The  Eyes 

4r  _Ji^  -V  Jr 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 

MRS. 
BEATRICE  L.  SATOAY 


THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 


Rose  knew  instinctively  that  something  was  amiss. 


THE  EYES  OF  THE 
VILLAGE 


BY 
ANICE  TERHUNE 


FRONTISPIECE   BY 

JOHN  ELLISON  BROWN 


NEW  YORK 
THE  MACAULAY  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,   1922, 
BY  ANICE  TERHUNE 


PRINTED   IN   THE   U     S.    A, 


PS 
35  £? 


TO  MY  HUSBAND 

ALBERT  PAYSON  TERHUNE 

Without  whose  encouragement  I  should  never  have 
dared  ask  you  to  read  this  book 


691326 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I          EM II 

II  THE  BELL      .......  23 

III  ROSE  TAKES  A  WALK     ....  47 

IV  EM  "ENTERTAINS  COMPANY"  ".      .  65 
V  "THE  YEAR  OF  JUBILEE  Is  COME!"  72 

VI  ON  THE  DOCTOR'S  LAWN     ...  82 

VII  Lois  BECOMES  INTERESTED   ...  93 

VIII     DINNER  AT  EM'S 99 

IX  Lois  WRITES  A  LETTER  .      .      .      .  105 

X  EM  TAKES  FATE  INTO  HER  OWN 

HANDS 118 

XI     "OLD  ROOT" 129 

XII  EVERYBODY'S  BUSINESS  .      .      .      .  139 

XIII  EM  SPEAKS  HER  MIND  ....  147 

XIV  THE  TANGLE 154 

XV     DANNY 165 

XVI     THE  ORDEAL 178 

XVII  SUPPER  Is  KEPT  WAITING   .      .      .  187 

XVIII     A  WEDDING 206 

XIX  PHILIP  GOES  AWAY  .....  231 

XX  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE      .     .  234 

XXI  OLD  ROOT  MAKES  A  CALL   .     ..     ..  240 

XXII  Lois  AND  PHILIP      .     .     L.     ,.>     .  250 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XXIII 

THE  DOCTOR  MEDDLES    . 

PAGE 
•         259 

XXIV 

DANNY  AGAIN     

.         264 

XXV 

"WHEN  THE  CAT'S  AWAY" 

.         271 

XXVI 

THE  STAGE  COMES  IN    ... 

.         280 

XXVII 

STRICKEN  !      

7  OA 

XXVIII 

"UNTO  THE  HILLS"  .... 

•     306 

XXIX 

EM  PREACHES  A  SERMON     .,     . 

.     308 

XXX 

EM  HAS  THE  LAST  WORD    .     . 

•     3H 

THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 


THE 
EYES   OF   THE   VILLAGE 

CHAPTER  I 

EM 

BETWEEN  six  and  seven  o'clock  on  a  stormy  Feb 
ruary  evening,  Em  Ufford,  spinster,  knocked  with 
energetic,  bony  knuckles  at  her  neighbor's  house  door; 
after  this  concession  to  manners,  she  pushed  the  door 
wide  open,  and  made  her  way  into  the  little  entry  with 
out  waiting  for  a  reply  to  her  knock. 

A  swirl  of  driving  snow  came  with  her. 

"Wai,  here  I  am,  Mis'  Sessions!"  she  proclaimed. 
"And  no  thanks  to  this  man"  (indicating  with  a  jerk 
of  the  head  a  forlorn,  snow-covered  object  behind  her) 
"that  I  ain't  snowed  under!  He  would  insist  on 
holdin'  my  umbrella  over  me,  and  'twas  so  far  over, 
most  the  time,  that  it  was  near  upside  down!  I 
thought  we'd  never  get  here.  It's  an  awful  night!" 

Em  fixed  her  great  piercing  blue  eyes  on  her  neigh 
bor,  and  emphasized  her  words  by  stamping  the  snow 
from  her  big  overshoes  and  beating  her  shoulders  with 

ii 


12  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

either  mittened  hand.  "New  England  Spinster"  was 
written  all  over  her  small  angular  frame  and  sharp 
featured,  russet  face;  was  coiled  in  the  tight  knob  of 
her  carroty  hair,  and  rang  in  the  shrill,  nasal  tones  of 
her  voice. 

Casting  a  withering  glance  toward  her  escort,  she 
added  scornfully,  "As  a  protector  of  helpless  females, 
you  certainly  ain't  a  success,  Charles  Reuben!" 

"I  couldn't  help  it,  Em!" — the  man  began. 

"There,  Charles  Reuben,  no  one's  a-doubtin'  that 
you've  got  a  lot  of  good  qualities — but  you  lack  the 
very  one  that  would  turn  'em  all  to  account — sense!" 

"You  would  walk  so  far  ahead  of  me,"  persisted  the 
man.  "Nobody  could  have  kept  the  umbrella  over 
you!" 

"Never  you  mind,  Charles  Reuben,  you  better  keep 
still — when  a  man  begins  to  defend  himself,  he  ad 
mits  that  there's  somethin'  about  him  that  needs  a  lot 
of  defendin' !  Just  shake  out  my  waterproof  while  I 
talk  to  Mis'  Sessions.  How  is  things,  Delia?  Doctor 
still  out?" 

"Come  right  here  and  get  warm !"  said  the  doctor's 
wife,  heartily,  getting  in  a  word  at  last,  and  pulling 
Miss  Ufford  into  her  dining-room  where  a  blazing 
fire  glowed  invitingly  in  a  huge  stove.  "Doctor  hasn't 
gotten  back  from  East  Longmeadow  yet,  but  I  expect 


EM  13 

him  any  minute,  now.     Come  in,  Charles  Reuben  I" 

"Good  evening,  folks !  Glad  to  see  you !  The  more 
the  merrier!"  hailed  a  voice  from  within  the  dining- 
room.  A  tall,  spare  man  with  large  heavy  looking  spec 
tacles  and  an  unusually  agreeable  face,  moved  his  chair 
to  make  room  near  the  stove  for  the  latest  comers,  and 
then  shook  hands  with  them,  smiling  genially. 

"Much  obliged,  Deacon,"  said  Charles  Reuben,  un 
winding  a  huge  comforter  from  his  neck,  and  shak 
ing  it  out  as  solemnly  as  if  his  life  depended  on  it. 

He  was  a  queer  looking,  rather  small  man,  with 
an  enormous,  bulging,  knobby  forehead,  under  which 
were  almost  hidden  two  funny  little  light  gray  eyes,  in 
a  face  that  looked  as  if  some  one  had  smashed  it  in. 
The  whole  visage  was  imbedded  in  a  thatch  of  black 
whiskers,  evidently  dyed. 

"How  long  before  mail  time,  folks?"  queried  Em 
Ufford.  Her  question  included  the  little  circle  of 
neighbors  that  were  gathered,  according  to  time-hon 
ored  custom,  around  the  dining-room  stove  of  the 
hospitable  doctor  and  his  wife. 

Every  evening  at  about  this  hour  there  was  a  meet 
ing  of  the  sort.  In  summer  the  people  collected  on 
the  lawn;  in  winter  in  the  dining-room,  awaiting  the 
rumble  of  the  stage  on  its  daily  passage  through  the 
little  town  to  the  Post  Office. 


14          THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

"The  stage  is  due  now!"  said  Deacon  Cone,  look 
ing  at  his  watch.  "It's  a  quarter  to  seven." 

"I  suppose  it  is  plowing  through  the  snow  some 
where  the  other  side  of  the  mountain,"  Mrs.  Ses 
sions  remarked. 

"It's  sure  to  be  dretful  late,  on  a  night  like  this," 
said  Em.  Then — "Charles  Reuben  Isham — stop  a- 
scrapin'  your  feet — if  there's  one  thing  on  'arth  does 
set  my  teeth  on  edge,  it's  to  have  a  shiftless  man  a- 
scrapin'  his  feet  on  my  stove  or  anybody  else's!" 

"They're  cold,"  expostulated  the  owner  of  the  feet 
in  a  subdued  voice,  with  a  reproachful  look  at  Em. 
"They're  prickin'  all  over!" 

"Don't  be  too  sure  it  ain't  your  conscience!"  said 
Em's  sharp  voice  severely.  "Becuz  you're  a-settin' 
here  by  a  warm  fire,  instead  o'  bein'  at  home  helpin' 
your  sister  Experience  bring  in  the  wood  from  the 
woodshed !  We  all  know  you,  Charles  Reuben !  Your 
sister  works  twenty-four  hours  a  day,  while  you  set 
around  and  write  jingles,  and  keep  comfortable  doin' 
nothin'!  It's  surprisin'  how  well  most  shiftless  peo 
ple  manage  to  get  along!" 

Here  there  was  a  general  laugh,  for  Em's  sharp 
tongue  and  the  warm  heart  behind  it,  were  too  well 
known  in  South  Wilbr'm,  for  any  one  to  be  hurt  at 
what  she  might  say. 


EM  15 

"I  always  speak  my  mind,"  she  was  wont  to  ex 
plain,  "and  if  folks  don't  like  it,  they'll  hev  to  lump 
it — it's  the  way  God  Almighty  made  me,  and  He  must 
of  done  it  for  some  good  purpose,  for  half  the  time 
I  don't  know  the  words  is  out,  till  they  is  out !" 

Charles  Reuben  took  Em's  haranguing  cheerfully, 
albeit  he  stopped  shuffling  the  offending  feet. 

"This  is  bound  to  be  the  breakin'  up  storm,"  he 
said.  "It's  so  late  in  the  season." 

There  did  not  seem  to  be  much  promise,  however, 
in  the  merciless  howling  of  the  wind,  as  it  swept 
around  the  house,  rattling  the  windows,  and  causing 
every  one  to  draw  up  a  little  closer  to  the  stove. 

"I  b'lieve  we  was  all  fools  to  venture  out,  a  night 
like  this,"  remarked  Em,  "but  when  we  only  git  one 
mail  a  day,  it  does  seem  a  pity  to  hev  to  wait  till  the 
next  mornin'  for  it,  don't  it?" 

"It's  a  perfect  shame  that  we  can't  have  two  daily 
mails!"  said  Miss  Phoebe  Bliss,  another  neighbor, 
speaking  for  the  first  time  since  Em  and  Charles 
Reuben  had  come  in. 

She  was  a  delicate  looking  sprig  of  faded  gentility, 
whose  once  glorious  family  had  bequeathed  her  noth 
ing  but  memories  of  their  former  greatness,  a  por 
trait  or  two,  some  beautiful  old  laces,  and  an  anemic 
body. 


16  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

"Doctor  has  tried  and  tried  to  get  us  two  mails; 
but  there  is  always  some  sort  of  hitch,  and  nobody 
else  seems  to  care  enough  about  it  to  do  anything," 
said  Mrs.  Sessions. 

"Doctor's  almost  the  only  enterprisin'  man  we've 
got  left  in  town!"  broke  out  Em.  "No  offense  to  you, 
Mr.  Cone — and  it's  a  great  pity  there's  no  more  pub 
lic  spirit — I  don't  know  what  on  arth  we're  a-comin* 
to  here  in  South  Wilbr'm,  if — " 

"Please,  m'm,  I  want  the  doctor!" 

The  interruption  came  in  a  very  small  but  insistent 
voice,  from  the  stormy,  snowy  world  beyond  the  hast 
ily  pushed-open  door.  "Doctor  must  come  right  now, 
please!" 

Mrs.  Sessions  jumped  up,  peered  out  into  the  gloom, 
and  drew  a  tiny,  shivering  atom  of  humanity  from 
the  doorstep  into  the  house. 

"Why,  Danny  Warren!  You  come  right  into  the 
dining-room  and  get  warm!  Doctor  had  to  go  to 
East  Longmeadow;  but  he'll  be  in  any  minute,  and  you 
can  ride  back  home  with  him!" 

"Your  sister  Bessie  ain't  took  worse,  is  she?" 
queried  Em  Ufford,  in  an  inquisitive  but  not  unkindly 
voice. 

The  little  boy  gazed  piteously  around,  as  he  was 
gently  pushed  into  the  center  of  the  circle  near  the 


EM  17 

stove,  and  at  Em's  thoughtless  question,  he  began: 
"She — she — "  then  with  one  frightened  glance  at  Em, 
he  burst  into  a  storm  of  sobs  and  tears,  as  the  neigh 
bors  exchanged  significant  looks.  Instantly,  Em's 
nut-cracker  face  softened  into  remorseful  sympathy,  as 
she  exclaimed : 

"There,  there,  never  mind.  Oh!  the  poor  little 
lamb !  I  never  meant  to  upset  him.  What  an  old  fool 
I  am — and  the  blessed  baby  most  froze,  at  that!" 

Meantime,  Mrs.  Sessions  had  picked  the  little  fellow 
up  bodily,  reaching  at  the  same  time  for  a  small  round 
cake  from  the  dining-room  table ;  and  holding  boy  and 
cake  together,  on  her  lap,  she  gave  the  kind  of  comfort 
that  only  a  tender  woman,  with  children  of  her  own, 
knows  how  to  give. 

The  visitors  talked  in  low  tones,  and  gradually  the 
sobbing  ceased,  the  curly  head  fell  back,  and  Danny 
slept. 

The  rhythmical  rocking  of  Mrs.  Sessions'  chair  went 
on,  and  the  neighbors  continued  to  whisper. 

"It  does  seem  as  if  some  folks  might  lend  their 
hired  man,  at  such  a  time — on  a  pinch!"  said  Em. 
"Think  of  a  baby  like  that  having  to  come  all  this 
way  alone,  in  such  a  storm!  And  in  the  dark — tho' 
of  course  'tain't  so  dark  with  the  snow,  as  if  'twas 
rain,  for  so  much  has  fallen  a' ready,  it's  like  a  white 


i8  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

carpet.  When  /  was  young,  neighbors  was  neighbors 
and  my  father's  hired  man,  and  yours  too,  no  doubt, 
would  'a'  bin  put  to  the  service  of  the  folks  next  door 
in  time  of  sickness. — They  could  have  had  anything 
else  in  the  house,  too,  as  could  be  used — and  no  thanks 
asked.  But  them  Roots!  My  soul !  Before  old  Root 
would  stretch  a  finger  to  help,  Bessie  Warren  and  Rose 
and  Danny  into  the  bargain  might  fall  dead  right 
before  their  very  eyes !  And  they  not  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  away,  and  the  only  other  people  on  the  mountain 
— except  the  Polacks — and  you  can't  rightly  count 
them,  they  not  bein'  more'n  half  human.  They  look 
like  animals,  and  sometimes  I  think  they  are — 
just!" 

"The  new  minister  thinks  he  can  save  old  Root's 
soul,"  put  in  Deacon  Cone.  "He's  been  to  Church 
every  Sunday  this  month." 

"Wai,  he  can't — old  Root's  got  no  soul  to  save!" 
retorted  Em.  "Of  course  you  can't  judge  a  man  by 
what  he  says  when  you  step  on  his  corn ;  but  it's  safer 
to  judge  him  by  his  daily  talk  than  by  his  prayers — 
and  old  Root's  daily  talk  won't  go  to  a  hymn  tune,  by 
any  means." 

Em  had  hard  work  to  subdue  her  vehemence  to  a 
whisper ;  but  presently  she  went  on  more  gently. 

"It  does  seem  hard,  don't  it,  Mis'  Sessions,  if  an- 


EM  19 

other  Warren  has  got  to  go?     Doesn't  Doctor  think 
there's  hope?" 

"Doctor  doesn't  say  much,"  answered  Mrs.  Ses 
sions,  smoothing  Danny's  damp  curls.  "But  he  has 
that  look  in  his  eyes  whenever  he  speaks  of  Bessie — 
the  look  that  he  always  has  when  there  is  some  one 
who  is  past  his  help.  Do  you  know,  he  walks  the  floor 
all  night,  if  a  patient  of  his  dies — I  believe  he  feels 
as  if  the  whole  townful  of  people  were  his  children!" 

"I  wonder  what's  keeping  him  now?"  asked  Phoebe 
Bliss.  "Didn't  that  quarry-man  that  got  his  ribs 
broken  come  around  all  right,  Mrs.  Sessions?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  doctor's  wife.  "The  quarry-man  is 
getting  on  very  well,  but  the  Cooleys  have  diphtheria; 
and  that's  why  Doctor  is  so  late !" 

"Of  course!"  ejaculated  Em.  "And  he  won't  get 
one  cent  from  'em,  to  pay  for  his  trouble,  I  s'pose; 
unless  maybe  Mr.  Cooley  builds  a  hen  house  for  the 
Doctor  next  summer,  or  shingles  the  barn.  If  our 
Doctor  had  got  paid  for  all  the  folks  he's  healed  in  this 
town  and  East  Longmeadow,  he'd  be  a  rich  man,  and 
you'd  be  wearin'  diamonds,  Mis'  Sessions!  Now  I 
don't  suppose  more'n  half  South  Wilbr'm  pays  'im, 
do  they?" 

"There  goes  the  stage  at  last,"  broke  in  Deacon 
Cone— "I  think  I'll  start  along  for  the  Post  Office." 


20  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

"Oh,  don't  go  yet,  Mr.  Cone !  It  always  takes  them 
at  least  ten  minutes  to  sort  out  the  mail,  and  you'll 
only  have  to  stand  around  and  freeze,"  urged  Mrs. 
Sessions. 

"And  I'll  promise  not  to  ask  any  more  inconvenient 
questions  of  Mis'  Sessions,"  added  Em  good-naturedly. 
"I  s'pose  that's  really  what  you  got  up  to  go  for. 
You're  more  gentle-minded  than  I  am.  I  s^pose  that 
comes  o'  bein'  a  Deacon.  You'd  better  stay ;  Matthias 
Howlitt  ain't  got  one-4ialf  the  postal  cards  read 
yet." 

"The  stage  was  very,  very  late  to-night;  it  must 
be  hard  going,"  said  Miss  Bliss. 

"What  do  you  hear  from  Lois,  Mrs.  Sessions?" 
asked  the  Deacon. 

At  the  question,  a  happy  light  came  into  Mrs.  Ses 
sions'  eyes,  and  she  answered : 

"Her  letters  come  very  regularly  every  Monday  and 
Thursday  night.  The  dear  child  is  always  so  faithful ! 
Her  professors  think  the  world  of  her,  and  she  is 
always  getting  some  prize  or  other." 

"Take  care  praise  don't  turn  her  head,  Mis'  Ses 
sions,"  snapped  Em  Ufford.  "You  know  them  that 
carries  their  heads  too  high  is  apt  not  to  see  the  preci 
pice  a-comin'  till  they're  a-rollin'  down  it !" 

Em's  warning  was  not  based  on  the  slightest  ani- 


EM  21 

mosity  towards  Mrs.  Sessions'  only  daughter,  but  was 
voiced  simply  because  she  deemed  it  her  duty  to  warn 
the  mother  not  to  take  too  much  pride  in  her  dearest 
possession,  at  that  time  away  from  home  undergoing 
(according  to  Em's  vivid  imagination)  no  one  knew 
what  dire  temptations,  in  that  mysterious  and  doubtful 
place  called  college. 

"There's  Doctor  now,"  said  Mrs.  Sessions,  as  the 
sound  of  sleigh  bells  grew  near,  and  the  Doctor's 
familiar  "Whoa-a!"  was  heard  outside  the  house.  A 
moment  more,  and  his  big  frame  filled  the  dining-room 
doorway.  He  was  the  tallest  man  in  South  Wilbr'm, 
and  the  heaviest;  and  in  his  thick  winter  overcoat  and 
muffler,  he  looked  like  a  giant. 

His  face,  always  ruddy,  and  now  aglow  with  the 
cold,  was  outlined  by  thick  snow-white  whiskers,  mus 
tache,  and  hair.  It  was  a  strong,  dignified,  keen  face. 
The  face  of  a  kind  father,  who  has  seen  much  suffer 
ing  and  sorrow,  and  whose  mission  is  to  help.  Just 
now,  it  was  lighted  up  by  a  friendly  smile  of  welcome, 
as  he  glanced  around  the  little  familiar  group. 

Then  his  gaze  fell  upon  Danny  Warren,  in  the  act 
of  rubbing  a  sleepy  fist  into  his  baby  eyes.  Instantly 
his  expression  changed. 

"How  long  has  Danny  been  here?"  he  asked  quickly. 

Eager  voices  hastened  to  answer  him.    Then,  turn- 


22  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

ing  to  Danny — "Is  there  any  one  beside  Rose  taking 
care  of  Bessie  to-night?"  he  asked. 

"No  sir,"  said  Danny.  "She  said  would  you  please 
hurry?" 

"Delia" — speaking  to  his  wife — "you'll  have  to  go 
with  me  to-night — we  won't  be  back  till  dawn,  prob 
ably.  Can  you  run  and  put  on  your  bonnet,  and  leave 
everything  as  it  is  ?" 

"Of  course  I  can,  Doctor!"  answered  his  wife,  al 
ready  half  way  up  the  stairs. 

"Wrap  up  warmly,"  her  husband  called  after  her. 
"It's  a  fearful  night!" 

In  a  very  few  minutes  the  three  were  packed  into 
the  sleigh  and  started  on  their  errand  of  mercy,  while 
the  little  knot  of  sympathetic  people,  chatting  volubly, 
worked  their  way  through  the  heavy  snow,  to  the 
Post  Office. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   BELL 

EM  UFFOKD,  her  morning  work  all  "done  up,"  was 
out  shoveling  a  path  down  the  front  walk  from  her 
house  to  the  street. 

The  house  was  hers,  and  the  ground  around  it,  and 
she  took  a  proper  pride  in  having  it  irreproachably 
neat  and  clean,  outside,  as  well  as  in. 

She  had,  in  her  youth,  been  a  dressmaker,  going 
from  one  house  to  another,  staying  long  enough  in 
each  to  "sew  up  the  family,"  as  she  put  it. 

In  those  early  days,  she  had  acquired  naturally  the 
habit  of  busying  herself  with  other  people's  affairs; 
and  in  her  later  years  of  prosperity,  the  habit  could 
not  be  dislodged.  She  was  a  clever  woman,  though, 
and  had  a  good  business  head,  having  saved  every 
cent  she  made;  so  now,  at  sixty  years  of  age,  her 
property  was  unencumbered.  She  "had  enough  laid 
by  to  bury  her  with,"  as  she  often  said,  and  was  con 
sidered  decidedly  well-to-do,  in  the  village. 

She  was  proud  of  her  well-kept  home,  and  did  not 
hesitate  to  say  so;  but  although,  as  she  worked,  this 

33 


24          THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

morning,  she  often  glanced  up  at  the  trim  looking 
house,  it  was  purely  an  unconscious  action,  incited,  no 
doubt,  by  habit;  for  her  thoughts  were  all  with  the 
Warren  family. 

Once  she  looked  up,  to  find  Miss  Bliss  going  by,  on 
her  way  to  "the  store." 

"Heard  anythin'  about  the  Warrens  this  morning, 
Phcebe?"  Em's  sharp,  crisp  voice  rang  out.  One  al 
ways  felt,  somehow,  that  Miss  Ufford's  voice  was  worn 
thin  by  its  proximity  to  the  edge  of  her  long,  sharp 
nose. 

"No,"  answered  Miss  Bliss.  "I  thought  I'd  stop  in 
at  Doctor's  and  find  out,  on  my  way  home." 

TOOT  Bessie  ain't  got  a  chance,  I'm  a-f eared,"  with 
a  sigh;  "but  what  could  they  expect,  livin*  in  that 
God-forsaken  place!  Doctor's  tried  and  tried  to  get 
'em  to  seO  and  come  to  live  down  in  town ;  but  'tisn't 
any  use,  they  won't  budge. 

"Doctor  says  they'll  every  one  go  with  consump 
tion,  if  they  keep  right  on  a-livin*  there — but  some 
folks  can't  be  taught  tin  they're  in  their  graves.  Live 
and  Tarn,  say  L  But  it's  die  and  1'arn  with  them! 

"Rosie's  grandmother  was  at  the  bottom  of  it  She 
loved  the  place  and  wouldn't  move  hand  or  foot. 
When  Mr.  Warren  got  the  lung  trouble  an'  died  of  it, 
Doctor  told  her  the  place  wasn't  healthy.  Then  when 


THE  BELL  25 

one  after  another  the  whole  five,  mother  an'  all,  died, 
he  tried  his  best  to  move  'em;  but  all  hed  to  be  as 
Grandma  said!  It's  all  right  to  respect  gray  hairs, 
but  above  all,  let's  respect  our  own,  say  I !  There  won't 
be  no  more  gray  hairs  in  the  Warren  family,  if  they 
don't  look  out,  and  now  Grandma's  gone,  and  there's 
just  these  three  left,  it  does  seem  as  if —  Hark! 
There's  the  church  bell!  Three — four — five — six — 
seven — eight — nine — ten — eleven — "  (Miss  Bliss  was 
silently  checking  off  the  strokes  on  her  fingers,  while 
Em  counted  aloud,  as  the  church  bell  tolled  forth  on 
the  clear  sunshiny  morning  air)  "twelve — "  went 
on  Em — "thirteen — fourteen — fifteen — sixteen.  Six 
teen  !  Bessie  Warren !" 

The  women  looked  at  each  other  in  sudden  awe. 
It  is  always  so,  even  when  death  is  momentarily  ex 
pected;  and  the  passing  of  this  sweet  young  soul,  just 
at  the  threshold  of  life,  seemed  particularly  hard  to 
understand,  on  this  bright,  lovely  March  morning,  with 
the  promise  of  spring  and  awakening  life  in  every 
breath. 

Miss  Bliss  waited  while  Em  hastily  exchanged  her 
woolen  hood  for  her  stiff  best  bonnet,  and  then  the 
two,  hailing  a  passing  wagon  for  a  lift,  hurried  to 
the  WTarren  house,  to  do  everything  in  their  power  to 
lighten  the  load  that  had  descended  on  Rose  Warren. 


26  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

Rose  was  a  pretty,  delicate  girl  of  nineteen,  and  all 
the  village  had  felt  a  proprietary  right  in  her  welfare, 
since  Danny  and  she  had  been  left  alone  to  take  care  of 
the  invalid  sister. 

Three  days  after  this,  on  a  brilliant  morning,  the 
whole  town  toiled  up  the  hill  to  Bessie  Warren's 
funeral.  Charles  Reuben's  prediction  as  to  the  "break 
ing  up  storm"  had  proved  true. 

The  warm  sunshine  had  melted  the  snow  to  such  an 
extent  that  sleighs  were  no  longer  available,  and  the 
wagon  wheels  slipped  and  squashed  and  splashed  in 
and  out  of  the  deep  ruts,  and  dark  mud  and  dingy 
snow  were  about  evenly  divided  on  the  spokes  of  the 
wheels. 

Overhead  the  sky  was  an  intense,  cloudless  blue; 
and  a  few  courageous  robins  were  examining  the 
premises,  with  a  view  to  a  future  boom  in  bird  real 
estate. 

The  road  to  the  Warrens'  took  one  by  the  Scantic, 
part  of  the  way;  and,  where  the  ice  had  broken  and 
floated  off,  there  was  an  unmistakable,  clear  spring- 
brown  in  the  depths  of  the  little  river. 

All  this  helped  the  town's  people  to  feel  that  it  was 
worth  while  to  don  one's  Sunday  best,  even  for  a 
funeral.  Of  course,  the  going  was  undeniably  heavy; 


THE  BELL  27 

but  no  South  Wilbr'mite  ever  stayed  away  from  a 
funeral  if  there  was  any  possible  chance  of  getting 
there. 

Em  Ufford  had  been  offered  a  ride  by  Deacon  Cone 
and  his  wife,  and,  as  usual,  was  holding  forth. 

"Do  you  know  whether  Rosie  went  all  the  way  to 
the  city  for  her  mournin'  ?  No?  She  could  well  afford 
to,  of  course;  but  Rosie's  a  true  New  Englander.  She 
can  drive  a  sharp  bargain,  and  she  ain't  a-goin'  to 
spend  a  cent  if  it  ain't  necessary.  Well,  it's  a  wise 
trait,  if  she's  got  to  look  out  for  herself,  poor  thing. 
Doctor's  persuaded  her  to  put  her  house  up  for  sale, 
and  she  and  Danny're  a-goin'  to  live  down  in  the  town 
at  last,  so  I  heard  last  night — and  it's  a  good  thing, 
too,  say  I !  Maybe  amongst  us  we  kin  save  two  War 
rens  after  all !  It's  hard  to  see  Bessie's  death  in  the 
light  of  a  blessin',  but  it  may  be,  who  knows?  She  was 
doomed  anyway,  poor  child,  and  if  her  takin'  off  has 
brought  Rose  to  reason,  perhaps  it's  all  for  the  best. 
The  Lord's  ways  are  strange,  but  He  knows  more'n 
we  give  Him  credit  for!" 

By  this  time  the  Warren  farm  was  reached,  and 
the  sleek,  black  figure  of  the  undertaker  was  visible  in 
the  front  doorway  of  the  house,  waving  people  unr.tu- 
ously  inward,  toward  the  narrow  entry,  almost  entirely 
filled  up  with  the  white  bannistered  front  stairs. 


28  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

The  little  standing-room  available  was  covered  with 
shiny  oilcloth,  made  more  cheerless  than  usual  by  the 
proximity  of  a  row  of  folded-up  camp  chairs,  for  late 
comers. 

The  undertaker  was  imported  from  East  Long- 
meadow,  and  felt  his  importance.  He  considered  that 
he  was  indeed  giving  a  treat  to  the  people  of  South 
Wilbr'm,  by  allowing  them  to  witness  such  well-ap 
pointed  obsequies. 

Inside  the  "front  room,"  as  much  of  South  Wilbr'm 
as  could  get  in,  was  assembled,  the  rest  stretching 
into  the  "settin'  room,"  dining-room  and  even 
kitchen. 

The  poor  little  daughter  of  the  house  sat  between 
Dr.  and  Mrs.  Sessions,  with  Danny  on  her  lap.  Her 
soft  eyes  were  heart-breaking  to  see,  with  their  deep 
expression  of  sadness;  but  they  looked  out  of  a  lovely 
little  face,  that  was  brave.  And  the  arm  the  girl  held 
about  her  brother  was  firm,  with  motherly  protection 
for  the  only  relative  she  had  left  on  earth. 

There  was  a  gloomy,  uncertain  light  throughout  the 
house,  for  the  window  shades  were  all  drawn  down, 
shutting  out  God's  sunshine. 

The  room  was  stone  cold. 

As  Em  stepped  into  it,  her  sharp  eyes  took  in  every 
detail.  She  could  have  told  without  another  glance, 


THE  BELL  29 

just  who  was  there,  what  every  woman  had  on,  and 
how  the  two  forlorn  mourners  bore  themselves. 

"Mis'  Cooley's  gone  and  decked  herself  out  in  the 
mournin'  veil  she  had  for  her  first  husband !"  she  whis 
pered  to  Mrs.  Cone.  "I  declar'  if  that  don't  beat  all! 
And  Cooley  himself  a-havin'  to  set  along  by  her  side 
and  bear  it!  What'd  they  come  for,  anyway,  I 
wonder?" 

For  an  instant,  a  tiny,  irrepressible  spark  of  amuse 
ment  shown  in  her  prominent  blue  eyes;  then  they  were 
decorously  dropped. 

"Rose  looks  like  a  droopin'  flower,  don't  she?"  Em 
whispered  presently,  then  interrupted  herself — "For 
the  land's  sake!"  she  shrilled  into  Mrs.  Cone's  ear — "If 
thar  ain't  old  Root!  Of  all  snoopin'  old  skinflints! 
I  feel  just  like  stickin'  a  bunnet  pin  into  him !  I  sh'd 
think  he  might  'a'  let  his  wife  come,  this  once!  It 
would  'a'  done  her  some  good  to  get  out  and  see  her 
friends  on  an  occasion  like  this,  poor  soul !  But  I  tell 
you  it  does  rile  me  to  see  him  a-settin'  there  so  sancti 
monious  and  he  too  mean  to  send  a  message  or  do  one 
thing  to  help  the  mourners  the  night  Bessie  died !  He 
ought  to  be  put  out!  The  Lord'll  settle  him  one  of 
these  days,  but  I  wish  He'd  hurry  up  about  it,  for  / 
want  to  see  it  done ! 

"There  come  the  singers!    I  hope  they'll  put  spirit 


30  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

into  the  verses.  Rose  looks  as  if  she  needed  sus- 
tainin'  power.  I  wonder  what  they've  selected?  Oh 
here  comes  Mr.  Eden!  Looks  real  sad,  don't  he?" 
Em  whispered  admiringly.  "Kind  of  overcome!  I 
wonder  if  it  ain't  his  first  funeral?  Such  a  nice,  styl 
ish  lookin'  young  feller!  You'd  know  he  come  from 
Boston  way!  Thar,  he's  a-takin'  out  his  book!"  and 
this  time  Em's  eyes  dropped,  not  to  be  raised  again  till 
the  prayer. 

A'  moment  after,  a  young,  rather  ascetic  looking 
clergyman  began  the  services.  He  was  not  very  well 
known  in  South  Wilbr'm,  having  only  recently  been 
called  to  the  Congregational  Church;  but  every  one 
liked  him,  and  he  and  the  doctor  had  become  friends 
immediately;  which  stamped  his  standing  among  the 
best  people  of  the  town. 

He  made  a  short  address  which  was  touching  in 
the  extreme,  and  after  the  prayer,  there  was  a  sub 
dued  chorus  of  sniffs  throughout  the  room. 

The  tension  was  relieved  as  soon  as  his  voice  ceased, 
however,  by  the  church  choir,  who  rendered  My 
Thoughts  On  Awful  Subjects  Roll  in  such  a  way  as 
to  hold  every  one  spellbound. 

Jane  Bliss  (a  sister  of  Phoebe)  the  soprano,  with  a 
voice  like  a  fog-horn,  boomed  along,  utterly  oblivious 
to  the  fact  that  the  alto  and  the  little  white-whiskered 


THE  BELL  31 

tenor-basso  were  also  trying  to  claim  attention.  As 
Alonzo  Day  was  the  only  man  in  the  choir,  he  was 
allowed  the  privilege  of  singing  either  tenor  or  bass,  at 
will ;  and  he  never  failed  to  slip  proudly  from  one  part 
to  the  other,  with  great  agility. 

Miss  Calista  Beebe,  the  other  member  of  the  trio, 
had  a  harmless,  dry  little  voice,  not  more  than  half  a 
tone  off  the  key,  and  she  had  long  years  ago  given 
up  trying  to  out-sing  the  others. 

On  this  occasion,  she  also  assisted  at  the  "instru 
ment,"  and  was  seen  to  shudder  ostentatiously,  when 
ever  Jane  Bliss  swooped  down  near  her  ear,  for  a 
closer  view  of  the  words  in  their  one  hymn  book,  as  it 
rested  on  the  melodeon  in  front  of  her.  Jane's  voice 
rose  and  fell  in  accordance  with  the  risings  and  fall 
ings  of  her  tall,  commanding  figure,  necessitated  by 
her  near-sighted  eyes.  Nothing  would  ever  persuade 
her  to  wear  glasses  while  "still  a  girl" — of  fifty-one. 

Mrs.  Sessions  glanced  apprehensively  at  Rose,  dur 
ing  this  selection,  and  whispered:  "Don't  mind,  dear! 
— Bessie  is  beyond  it  all." 

After  this,  there  was  a  brief  benediction,  and  then 
the  undertaker  invited  every  one  to  "view  the  remains, 
passing  up  this  side  and  down  the  other,"  (with  a  de 
scriptive  wave  of  the  arm). 

There  was  a  scraping  of  chairs,  a  creaking  of  boots, 


32  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

a  swish  of  best  black  silks,  and  the  moment  for  which 
South  Wilbr'm  had  been  waiting,  had  come.  Slowly 
and  decorously  they  walked  up  along  the  left  side  of 
the  coffin,  the  women  with  their  hands  folded,  shoulders 
raised,  and  elbows  held  straight  out,  according  to  local 
custom,  and  the  men  with  their  arms  swinging  awk 
wardly  and  boots  creaking  at  every  step,  as  they 
tiptoed  along,  seemingly  afraid  to  bear  the  whole 
weight  of  one  foot  upon  the  ground.  On  they  went, 
eyes  down,  till  they  reached  the  head  of  the  coffin. 
Then,  raising  themselves  as  high  as  possible  on  their 
toes,  the  better  to  see,  they  peered  into  the  casket  for  a 
moment — or  as  long  as  they  dared — and  then,  coming 
down  on  their  heels  with  a  snap,  marched  quickly 
down  the  other  side,  heads  up,  eyes  fixed  on  the  door. 

To  Rose  Warren,  this  ordeal  seemed  endless.  She 
did  not  notice  the  people  individually;  but  each  ag 
gressive  squeak  seared  into  her  very  soul,  till  her  brain 
refused  to  act  normally  any  longer  and  she  found 
herself  idly  wondering  if  every  one  in  South  Wilbr'm 
had  worn  a  pair  of  new  shoes  that  day. 

And  still  the  procession  went  on. 

When  Em's  turn  came,  she  was  not  to  be  hurried, 
and  the  line  was  kept  waiting  some  time,  as  she  rolled 
her  eager  eyes  off  at  the  little  sixteen-year-old  girl, 
lying  there  so  peacefully.  She  took  in  everything,  with 


THE  BELL  33 

a  grim  satisfaction  that  it  had  been  so  well  done,  and 
then  walked  on.  In  the  hallway  she  met  the  doctor, 
who,  holding  Danny  by  the  hand,  was  going  out  to 
unhitch  his  horse.  The  strain  of  the  last  few  days 
had  told  on  him,  but  he  was  as  cheery  and  kindly  as 
ever. 

"Em,  I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  you,"  he  said. 
''Suppose  you  ride  down  with  me,  instead  of  with 
Mr.  Cone?  There's  lots  of  room  on  the  front  seat, 
and  I'll  stow  Danny  away  in  the  back,  between  Mrs. 
Sessions  and  Rose.  Is  it  a  go?" 

Instantly  Em  accepted;  and  as  they  rode  down  the 
mountain  toward  the  pretty  village  lying  below  them 
in  the  sunshine,  the  doctor,  having  first  assured  him 
self  that  the  three  people  on  the  back  seat  were  ab 
sorbed  in  their  own  conversation,  turned  a  serious 
face  toward  his  seat-mate. 

"Em,"  he  said,  "I've  got  to  find  a  good  home  for 
those  two  waifs  back  there — in  fact,  I've  found  it,  but 
I'm  not  quite  sure  whether  they'll  be  welcome — at  first, 
that  is." 

"You  don't  say,  Doctor !  Wa'al,  you  are  a  hustler ! 
I  thought  the  children  were  a-goin'  to  stay  with  you, 
for  the  present,  till  you  could  look  round." 

"So  they  are,"  said  the  doctor.  "I  want  them  for  a 
week,  anyway;  so  I  can  feed  them  up  and  get  them  in 


34  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

some  kind  of  shape  for  a  new  start  in  life;  but  our 
house  would  be  no  place  for  them,  for  any  length  of 
time.  A  doctor's  house  is  always  in  a  chaotic  state, 
more  or  less — at  least  a  country  doctor's.  Our  meals 
are  never  at  the  same  time,  two  days  running,  for  Mrs. 
Sessions  will  insist  on  waiting  till  I  come  home  before 
eating,  no  matter  what  time  it  may  be.  Aside  from 
that,  our  house  is,  as  you  know,  more  or  less  of  a 
hospital  for  the  whole  town.  And  it  really  would  be 
no  place  for  two  such  forlorn  little  people  as  Rose  and 
Danny,  who  need  cheering  up  more  than  anything  else." 

"You're  right  in  that,  Doctor,  as  you  are  in  most 
everything.  Where  do  you  think  of  placing  'em?" 

"With  you,  Em." 

"Me!  ME!  Why  what'd  I  do  with  'em?  Why, 
Doctor,  I'm  an  old  maid!  You  can't  teach  an  old 
maid  new  tricks,  no  more'n  you  can  a  dog — and  I 
know  as  well  as  anything,  that  if  Danny  Warren 
tracked  up  my  kitchen  floor,  I  should  take  a  whip  to 
him!  Why,  'tain't  to  be  thought  of,  Doctor!  What 
ever  would  I  do  with  'em?"  (A  pause.) 

"Rose  could  have  that  sunny  room  on  the  south 
end,"  went  on  Em,  ruminating  "overlookin'  the  vil 
lage,  and  Danny  could  have  the  little  store-room  next 
to  it,  for  his — I  could  put  all  the  things  that  are  in 
it  now,  up  attic.  But  law!  Here  I  am  a-plannin' 


THE  BELL  35 

when  it  ain't  to  be  expected  of  me  that  I  should  take 
'em.  No,  sir!  I  won't  do  it.  If  the  Lord  had  in 
tended  me  to  have  any  children,  he  would  'a'  sent  'em 
to  me  before  now,  and  in  the  reg'lar  way!  Thar's 
plenty  of  poor  critters  in  this  town  that'd  be  glad 
enough  for  the  money,  and  that  needs  it;  as,  thank  the 
Lord  I  don't!  Arid  I  think  it's  our  duty  to  hunt  'em 
up,  Dr.  Sessions!" 

"This  isn't  a  question  of  money,  as  you  know  well 
enough,  Em;  and  you're  beating  about  the  bush. 
You're  not  trying  to  persuade  me,  but  yourself,  that 
you  don't  want  Rose  and  Danny. 

"You  know,"  added  the  doctor  in  a  gently  bantering 
tone,  "deep  down  in  your  heart,  Em,  you're  tickled  to 
death  at  the  idea  of  having  some  young  life  around 
your  house;  and  you  wouldn't  for  a  moment  consider 
seriously  the  thought  of  their  going  anywhere  else, 
now  that  your  mind — your  real  mind,  not  the  one  you 
show  to  me — is  made  up.  Confess  now,  would  you?" 

"Wa-al — you  do  put  things  in  such  a  way,  Doctor !" 
cried  Em  in  a  flutter.  "No  wonder  you  do  what  you 
like  with  the  whole  of  South  Wilbr'm!  Of  course 
those  two  dear  children  have  got  to  have  a  home,  and 
if  you  think  the  Lord's  called  me,  in  my  old  age,  to 
be  a  mother  to  the  motherless,  I  ain't  afraid — I  want 
to  do  my  duty." 


36  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

There  was  a  suspicion  of  tears  in  Em's  voice,  as  she 
capitulated  in  this  by  no  means  ungraceful  way;  but 
she  snapped  the  tears  out  of  her  protruding  eyes,  and 
pursed  up  her  nut-cracker  mouth  until  nothing  was 
visible  but  one  hard  line ;  and  her  nose  and  chin  almost 
met,  in  true  Mother  Goose  fashion. 

"Maybe  this  is  just  the  very  thing  I've  bin  a-waitin' 
for,"  she  went  on  presently,  "but  it  does  seem  such  a 
great  change,  to  one  of  my  set  ways !  By  turnin'  my 
face  away  from  another's  sorrow  I  might  miss  my  best 
joy,  though,  who  knows  ?  I  allers  have  wanted  to  be 
friend  the  sorrowin',  and  I  s'pose  now's  the  time  to  do 
it,  if  ever  so !  I  don't  want  to  be  the  kind  of  friend 
that's  powerful  devoted  »when  no  one  stands  in  need 
of  help.  Them  folks  allers  reminds  me  of  pine  trees — 
they  offer  you  their  shade  in  winter,  when  you  don't 
need  it,  and  in  summer  when  every  one's  a-swelterin' 
they're  no  sort  of  good  on  the  face  of  the  'arth.  I 
don't  want  to  be  like  that,  Doctor,  and  if  you  think 
1  could  make  those  two  hearts  happy,  why — I'll  do  my 
best!  I'm — I'm  willin'  to  shake  hands — "  she  added 
hesitatingly. 

The  doctor  grasped  her  little,  bony  hand,  in  his 
powerful  fist.  "You  are  laying  up  for  yourself  a 
crown  in  Heaven,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"Oh  law!"  exclaimed  Em,  obviously  embarrassed. 


THE  BELL  37 

"Crowns  and  halos  ain't  in  my  line!"  Then,  with  a 
twinkle,  "If  I  thought  I  sh'd  ever  get  to  lookin'  like 
one  o'  them  angels  up  in  the  stained  glass  winders  of 
the  South  Church  in  Springfield,  I  sh'd  get  right  out 
of  the  notion  of  takin'  Rose  and  Danny !  I'm  a  New 
Englander,  and  I  want  somethin'  besides  feathers  and 
blue  tarleton  to  cover  me.  I  s'pose  it's  all  accordin' 
to  bringin'  up — but — honest,  Doctor — don't  you  think 
crowns  suggest  draughts — and  neuralagy  ?  Day  in  an* 
day  out,  that  is?" 

The  Warren  farm  was  two  and  a  half  miles  "over 
East,"  and,  to  reach  the  burying  ground,  (crowded 
upon  the  side  of  one  of  the  loveliest  of  the  hills  sur 
rounding  the  hamlet  of  South  Wilbr'm)  the  little 
cortege,  made  up  of  a  few  family  carriages  and  more 
farm  wagons,  wound  down  into  the  town  from  the 
east,  skirting  the  village  green  (where  the  two  inter 
secting  streets  of  South  Wilbr'm  met  and  formed  a 
Maltese  cross)  and  crossing  the  Skantic  bridge  took 
the  left  fork  of  the  south  road,  to  the  cemetery. 

Just  before  they  reached  the  gate,  an  old  man  hob 
bled  out  of  the  door  of  a  roadside  hut,  and  halted  the 
procession  for  a  moment,  while,  his  scant  hair  blow 
ing  in  the  wind,  and  with  hand  uplifted,  he  stood  by 
the  hearse  and  mumbled  a  prayer  "for  the  repose  o£ 
her  soul." 


38          THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

He  was  Dennis  Duffy,  one  of  the  patriarchs  of  the 
village.  Bareheaded  he  stood,  with  lowered  eyes, 
crossing  himself  until  the  carriages  had  all  passed 
on. 

"Dennis  grows  old,"  Em  commented  aloud.  "I 
s'pose  he's  about  as  old  as  anybody  ever  gets  to  be, 
ain't  he,  Doctor?" 

"He's  over  ninety,"  answered  Dr.  Sessions,  "and 
one  of  the  finest  old  fellows  I  ever  knew.  He  told  me 
once,  that,  years  ago,  when  he  was  very  young,  he 
used  to  drink  all  the  time.  It  got  worse  and  worse, 
and  his  wife  worried  herself  sick  over  it,  till  one  day 
when  she  went  to  the  door  to  meet  him,  and  saw  him 
come  reeling  up  the  road  so  drunk  he  could  hardly 
move,  she  cried  out,  'If  ever  I  have  another  child  to 
inherit  that  curse,  may  God  strike  it  dead  the  day  it's 
born!'  And  the  next  and  last  child  they  had  died 
when  it  was  an  hour  old.  Dennis  has  never  drunk  a 
drop  since." 

"Land  sakes!"  ejaculated  Em,  "Ain't  that  terrible? 
I  don't  blame  her  for  bein'  out  o'  patience  with  Dennis, 
but  I  bet  she  didn't  think  the  Lord  would  take  her  up 
on  it!" 

As  the  doctor's  carriage  turned  the  sharp  corner 
into  the  cemetery  gate,  following  the  one  hack  con 
taining  the  bearers,  there  was  a  sudden  lurch.  The 


THE  BELL  39 

wheels  slid  on  the  uncertain  snow,  and  the  occupants 
of  the  back  seat  were  nearly  thrown  out. 

Rose,  her  nerves  strained  to  the  breaking  point  al 
ready,  by  the  events  of  the  last  day  or  two,  gave  an 
involuntary  cry,  and  burst  into  convulsive  sobs  as  they 
reached  the  little  plot  of  ground  where  lay  all  of  her 
family  except  the  child  who  clung  so  frantically  at  that 
moment  to  her  hand.  In  the  midst  of  her  grief  she 
looked  up  long  enough  to  see  that  all  the  men  stood 
bareheaded — and,  with  the  thought  fulness  for  others, 
which  had  become  a  second  nature  from  her  constant 
care  of  the  sick,  she  said  tremulously : 

"Please  all  put  your  hats  on." 

Then  as  the  men  looked  uncertainly  at  each  other, 
and  no  one  complied  with  her  request — "It's  so  cold 
up  here  in  the  wind — you'll  all  catch  cold.  Oh,  please 
do!" 

The  second  appeal  was  responded  to  at  once,  and 
Mr.  Eden  being  mercifully  short  with  the  service,  they 
were  soon  once  more  in  the  carriages,  and  were  driven 
rapidly  back  to  town. 

The  doctor,  according  to  his  usual  custom,  stopped 
to  give  his  horse  a  drink  at  the  watering  trough  (placed 
in  the  center  of  the  Maltese  Cross)  and  here  Em  dis 
mounted  and  made  her  way  to  the  Post  Office  to  ask 
for  her  last  night's  mail.  Em  seldom  received  any 


40          THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

letters,  but  her  daily  paper  was  as  the  breath  of  life 
to  her,  and  she  eagerly  devoured  every  word  of  news, 
local,  general,  political  and  ecclesiastical. 

The  village  green  was  always  the  center  of  life,  at 
South  Wilbr'm.  Flanking  it,  were  the  Congregational 
Church,  the  Parsonage,  and  the  Hotel.  On  the  fourth 
side  was  the  General  Store  and  Post  Office,  popular 
at  all  times  of  day  or  evening,  as  a  lounging  place  for 
loafers,  as  a  meeting  place  for  gossips,  a  place  for 
general  information,  and  a  playground  for  small  boys. 
It  was  a  long,  low  building  of  great  antiquity ;  though 
the  inside  had  been  remodeled  somewhat,  to  meet  the 
necessities  of  trade.  On  one  side  of  the  store  proper, 
was  the  Post  Office  equipment;  on  the  other  side  was 
a  long  counter  filled  with  very  doubtful  looking  candy 
mice,  cocoanut  bars,  peppermint  sticks,  cookies,  cakes, 
etc.,  all  of  uncertain  age,  but  dear  to  the  heart  of  the 
South  Wilbr'm  urchin.  Overhead  hung  neckties,  rib 
bons  and  so  on,  while  on  shelves  at  the  back  of  the 
room  lay  bales  of  dress  goods. 

"Wai,  Mr.  Hewlett,  what  have  you  got  for  me, 
to-day?"  shrilled  Em. 

"Thar's  your  paper,  Miss  Ufford.  That's  all  you're 
entitled  to!"  answered  the  Postmaster. 

"Are  you  sure  there  ain't  a  letter  concealed  up  your 
sleeve,  Matthias?" 


THE  BELL  41 

The  broad  face  of  Matthias  Howlett  beamed  back 
at  her,  archly,  for  it  filled  him  with  joy  to  have  it 
even  hinted  that  such  a  depth  of  villainy  might  be 
his. 

"I  guess  if  you're  so  sot  on  letters,  Miss  Ufford, 
I'll  hev  to  write  you  one  myself,  or  maybe  Charles 
Reuben  might  be  persuaded — if  you  arst  him  real 
kind!"  This  with  a  frantic  upward  roll  of  the  eyes, 
and  an  accompanying  spasmodic  motion  of  the  mouth 
sideways  and  downward;  supposed  to  denote  extreme 
wit,  in  people  of  Mr.  Howlett's  walk  of  life. 

Miss  Ufford  refused  to  see  anything  witty  in  the 
Postmaster's  allusion  to  Charles  Reuben  Isham,  how 
ever — for  he  had  been  her  ardent  but  unrequited  adorer 
for  sixteen  years.  She  endured  his  weekly  call,  re 
garding  it  as  a  trial  of  patience  sent  directly  by  the 
Lord.  But,  listen  to  his  wooing?  "Never!"  said  Em. 
Therefore,  she  withered  Mr.  Howlett  with  a  look,  and 
retorted  in  a  quick,  strident  tone,  "Seems  to  me  some 
folks  say  more'n  their  prayers,  Mr.  Howlett.  Try 
partin'  your  hair  in  the  middle  instead  of  your  mouth, 
for  awhile,  and  see  how  it  works !" 

After  relieving  her  mind,  to  this  extent,  she  seized 
her  paper  and  marched  out  of  the  Post  Office  with  her 
head  held  high. 

As  the   door   slammed   behind   her,   Mr.   Howlett 


42  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

grinned  expansively  at  her  disappearing  back,  then 
grinned  all  around  the  store  at  the  few  loafers  leaning 
on  the  counter  or  sitting  near  the  stove — all  of  whom 
grinned  back  at  him  in  the  same  bovine  way,  as  they 
aimed  quids  of  tobacco  at  the  red  glow  inside  the  open 
stove  door. 

"Em  don't  grow  mellerer  as  she  grows  old!"  sighed 
Mr.  Howlett  placidly,  as  he  went  back  to  his  work  of 
sorting  letters  and  reading  post  cards. 

Meanwhile,  at  the  doctor's  house,  great  preparations 
had  been  in  progress  for  the  reception  of  the  expected 
guests.  South  Wilbr'm  was  renowned  for  its  fine 
cooks,  and  Mrs.  Sessions  easily  carried  off  the  palm. 
She  had  spent  a  good  part  of  the  day  before  in  baking 
cookies  enough  to  satisfy  ten  small  boys,  and  in  evolv 
ing  dainties  calculated  to  tempt  Rose's  slender  ap 
petite. 

The  kitchen  was  the  nicest  room  in  the  Sessions' 
house,  being  possessed  of  a  huge,  deep,  black  fireplace 
that  reached  almost  entirely  across  one  end  of  it.  This 
fireplace  was  a  delight  to  all  children;  and  Lois,  as  a 
little  girl,  had  often  played  in  it,  to  the  despair  of  her 
mother,  who  always  seized  her  soot-covered  child  and 
dragged  her  forth  at  once,  to  be  washed,  dried,  and 
again  made  immaculate. 

The  doctor  came  from  fine  old  revolutionary  stock, 


THE  BELL  43 

and  the  house  was  a  relic  of  colonial  times,  boasting  a 
secret  room,  where,  in  olden  days,  the  family  used  to 
hide  from  the  Indians.  This  was  now  used  as  a  place 
to  keep  preserves,  dried  peppers,  etc.  The  whole  house 
was  always  scrupulously  neat;  but  all  luxuries  had 
long  since  departed  from  it,  for  the  two  good  souls 
who  lived  there  were  saving  up  every  cent  to  keep  their 
child,  Lois,  in  college. 

Em  Ufford  came  nearer  hitting  the  mark  than  she 
knew,  when  she  sent,  at  a  venture,  that  shaft  about 
half  the  town's  people  "not  payin*  a  cent."  There 
were  many  thoroughly  good  people  in  the  town,  who 
paid  their  debts  as  a  matter  of  course;  but  there  were 
also  many  others  who  did  not — some  because  they 
could  not,  and  others  because  they  would  not.  To 
"The  Doctor"  it  was  all  one — if  they  needed  him,  he 
went  to  them,  even  when  he  knew  he  would  get  no 
return  except  the  knowledge  of  a  deed  well  done. 
Helping  the  sick  was  very  closely  connected  with  his 
religion,  and  he  could  not  really  separate  the  two. 

In  spite  of  his  life  of  service,  he  and  his  wife  had, 
by  scrimping,  pinching  and  going  shabby,  managed  to 
save  enough  to  send  their  pretty  daughter  to  college 
and  keep  her  there — not  as  the  daughter  of  poor  par 
ents  would  be  kept,  ordinarily,  but  with  every  advan 
tage,  every  amusement  that  came  up,  and  all  the 


44  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

pretty  clothes  that  she  desired  and  took  as  her  just  due. 
Lavish  expenditure  on  her  was  the  one  extravagance 
the  mother  and  father  permitted  themselves. 

She  was  their  idol,  the  pride 'of  their  hearts;  and 
they  were  never  so  happy,  as  when,  questioned  about 
her  by  some  sympathetic  neighbor,  they  had  an  excuse 
to  give  themselves  full  rein  in  their  talk  of  her  tri 
umphs,  educational  and  social. 

It  never  occurred  to  them  that  there  was  anything 
noble  in  the  life  of  sacrifice  they  were  leading  for  their 
one  ewe-lamb.  A  letter  telling  of  a  laurel  won  was 
surely  ample  payment  for  wearing  a  shabby  coat  a 
little  longer! 

On  Rose  Warren's  advent  to  the  household,  she  was 
given  Lois'  pretty  room — the  only  one  in  the  house 
that  had  not  been  allowed  to  run  to  seed,  so  to  speak. 
Here  were  snowy  dimity  curtains,  a  little  white  bed, 
and  all  the  hundred  and  one  pretty  things  a  girl  loves; 
and  the  room  was  ever  kept  ready  "In  case  Lois  should^ 
come  home  suddenly  to  surprise  us." 

Doctor  had  brought  a  big  basket  of  wood  upstairs 
before  starting  for  the  Warrens,  that  morning,  and,  a 
very  few  minutes  after  Rose's  arrival,  she  was  toast 
ing  her  feet  in  front  of  her  "very  own  fire  in  her  very 
own  room";  as  Danny,  curled  up  beside  her  on  the 
floor,  put  it. 


THE  BELL  45 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  Doctor  appeared 
at  the  threshold,  laden  with  a  tall  glass  full  of  a  mys 
terious  hot  drink  of  which  he  made  Rose  take  every 
drop,  in  spite  of  her  protests. 

"You  are  so  lovely  to  me!"  she  murmured  tear 
fully. 

"Lovely!"  retorted  the  doctor.  "The  loveliness  is 
all  on  your  side,  in  agreeing  to  come  and  help  two  old 
fogeys  forget  that  their  one  child  is  miles  away.  You 
must  try  to  feel  that  Danny  and  you  belong  entirely 
to  us,  for  this  one  week — will  you  try?" 

"Yes,  Doctor,"  answered  Rose  meekly. 

"Then  go  to  bed  at  once,  like  a  good  girl,  and  stay 
there  all  day.  You'll  find  plenty  of  books  to  read  on 
the  little  shelf,  if  you  want  them — but  you  won't  want 
them,  for  I  prophesy  that  after  that  villainous  hot 
drink  I  made  you  take,  you'll  be  curled  up  sound  asleep 
inside  of  ten  minutes  after  your  head  touches  the  pil 
low.  And  mind,  you're  not  to  get  up  again  to-day. 
Mrs.  Sessions  will  come  and  stay  with  you,  just  as 
soon  as  you  wake  up." 

"But  what  about  Danny  ?" 

"Danny  ?  Why  Danny's  got  to  drive  my  horse  for 
me  all  the  way  to  East  Longmeadow  and  back,"  an 
swered  Doctor.  "Come  on,  son." 

Danny,  his  face  alight  with  the  heavenly  prospect 


46  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

of  driving  the  doctor's  big,  white  "Sam,"  gave  his 
sister  a  bear-like  hug,  and  trotted  happily  downstairs 
at  the  doctor's  heels,  his  sorrow  already  forgotten  in 
the  joyous  prospect  ahead  of  him. 


CHAPTER  III 

ROSE   TAKES    A    WALK 

"Boon !" 

"Land  sakes  alive,  Danny  Warren !  You  pretty  near 
knocked  this  pan  of  cake  right  out  o'  my  hand !  Don't 
you  know  no  better'n  to  peek  into  winders  an'  scare 
folks  to  death  on  bakin'  day?" 

"Where's  Rose?"  asked  Danny,  from  outside  the 
window.  "I  want  her." 

Rose  and  Danny  had  been  settled  at  Miss  Ufford's 
for  some  weeks,  and  Em  had  become  Danny's  abject 
and  adoring  slave,  although  she  never  would  have 
admitted  it  and  fondly  imagined  that  she  ruled  him 
with  a  rod  of  iron. 

"Wai,  you  can't  have  her,"  snapped  Em.  "She's 
in  the  best  room,  entertainin'  the  Minister,  and  they 
don't  either  of  'em  want  a  dirty- faced  little  boy 
around." 

"But  I've  brought  her  some  flowers,  Aunt  Em! 
The  back  lot  is  just  full  of  violets  and  anemones, — 
and  see  the  bunch  I've  got !" 

Danny  held  up  a  handful  of  pitifully  short-stemmed 

47 


48  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

field  flowers,  already  beginning  to  wilt  in  his  warm 
little  fist,  but  redolent  of  spring. 

"Wai,  you  just  tiptoe  in  here  and  get  your  tin  cup 
full  of  water,  and  put  'em  in  that.  And  then,  when 
Mr.  Eden  goes,  you  can  give  'em  to  Rose.  I  can't 
leave  this  cake,  to  attend  to  you!" 

"Is  my  gingerbread-man  done,  yet?" 

"Yes,  your  gingerbread-man's  done,  an'  coolin'  in 
the  buttery.  You  just  march  in  there  on  your  tip 
toes  and  get  him,  if  you  want  him,  and  march  right 
out  again — and  don't  you  dare  come  down  on  your 
heels,  once!  If  you  make  my  cake  fall  you  shan't  have 
one  piece  of  it — do  you  hear?" 

"Yes,  Aunt  Em — I've  eaten  his  head  off," — in  a 
thick  gingerbready  voice.  "Can't  I  please  come  and 
kiss  you?" 

"Of  course  you  can,  you  lamb!  Now,  run  right 
along  out  of  this  kitchen — on  your  TIP  TOES,  /  said — 
and  don't  come  botherin'  me  any  more  this  after 
noon  !" 

Danny  obeyed,  and  Em  went  peacefully  on  with 
her  work;  but  though  outwardly  calm,  she  was  really 
much  excited,  for  this  was  neither  the  first  nor  the 
second  time  "The  Minister"  had  called,  since  Rose 
came  to  live  with  Em.  He  had  seen  much  of  the 
girl  during  her  stay  at  Dr.  Sessions',  where  he  was 


ROSE  TAKES  A  WALK  49 

an  almost  daily  visitor,  on  his  way  to  or  from  the 
Post  Office.  And  it  seemed  that  the  habit  of  talking 
to  Rose  was  a  hard  one  to  break. 

Miss  Ufford,  born  absorber  and  dispenser  of  news, 
did  not  hesitate  to  tell  her  friends  that  there  was 
"somethin'  goin'  on  between  Rose  and  Mr.  Eden," 
but  how  much  that  something  meant,  she  had  no  idea, 
and  Rose  never  would  talk  about  it.  So  Em  dreamed 
and  made  castles  in  the  air,  as  she  worked,  and  was 
as  happy  as  any  designing  mother  could  have  been. 

She  had  come  to  love  Rose  with  a  real  mother's 
tenderness ;  and  Mr.  Eden  was  "a  man  any  girl  might 
be  proud  to  catch"  was  Em's  unspoken  thought  as 
she  took  her  cake  (now  safely  beyond  the  "falling"' 
point)  out  of  the  oven. 

And  indeed  as  the  minister  sat  opposite  Rose,  in 
Em's  "best  room,"  he  was  truly  good  to  look  upon. 
His  six  feet  and  two  inches  of  height  were  well  car 
ried  off  by  a  pair  of  broad  shoulders  that  had  been 
the  pride  of  his  trainer  when  he  was  on  the  college 
crew;  and  Rose  thought,  as  she  looked  at  him,  that 
she  never  had  imagined  any  one  could  be  so  alto 
gether  splendid.  He  had  a  fine,  rather  ascetic  face, 
dark  as  a  Spaniard,  with  remarkably  handsome  gray 
eyes  which  just  at  this  minute  were  fixed  on  Rose; 
with  a  humorous  twinkle. 


50  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

"I  cannot  imagine  why  Em  always  absents  her 
self,  on  the  most  absurd  pretenses,  whenever  you 
come!"  Rose  was  saying.  "If  I  didn't  know  that  she 
adores  you,  I  should  think  that  it  was  just  one  of  the 
unaccountable  dislikes  that  she  takes  to  new  people, 
new  things,  new  anything." 

"If  that  is  the  trouble,"  said  Mr.  Eden,  "I'm  trying 
to  get  rid  of  my  'newness'  just  as  quickly  as  pos 
sible.  You  see  it's  really  all  your  fault.  You  won't 
let  me  come  here  oftener  than  twice  a  week.  And, 
until  I  do,  Miss  Ufford  will  persist  in  regarding  me 
as  something  new  and  to  be  avoided!  How,  may  I 
ask,  is  my  newness  to  wear  off?  How  am  I  ever 
to  become  old — and  elect — in  other  words,  a  part  of 
South  Wilbr'm,  in  her  sight,  if  you  insist  on  holding 
me  off  at  arm's  length  to  a  petty  twice  a  week?  I 
foresee  that  I  shall  grow  to  a  ripe  old  age  and  come 
tottering  in  here  with  a  cane,  still  regarded  by  Miss 
Ufford  as  'new,'  and  therefore  obnoxious — and  just 
because  you  won't  let  me  come  often  enough  to  get 
acquainted." 

Rose's  dark  eyes  laughed  back  at  him,  and  her  face 
broke  into  pretty  dimples,  as  he  brought  this  forlorn 
picture  before  her. 

"You  ought  to  have  been  a  lawyer,  not  a  clergy- 


ROSE  TAKES  A  WALK  51 

man/'  she  answered.  "You  certainly  know  how  to 
argue  a  case." 

"If  I  could  only  be  sure  that  the  jury  were  with 
me?"  he  hazarded  with  a  look  that  sent  the  blood  to 
Rose's  cheeks  on  a  sudden,  and  made  her  hasten  to 
add: 

"Question  ruled  out — case  is  adjourned — besides, 
I  want  to  talk  about  something  else.  Did  you  know 
that  Lois  Sessions  is  coming  home  this  evening?" 

"Yes,  I  met  Doctor  just  starting  out  to  drive  to 
Springfield  for  her.  He  was  so  happy  at  the  thought 
of  having  her  home  again,  that  he  couldn't  wait  to 
meet  the  train  at  East  Longmeadow,  he  said,  but  must 
go  the  whole  ten  miles!" 

"Isn't  that  just  like  him!  He  is  certainly  an 
angel.  I  suppose  his  old  buggy  lopped  down  on  one 
side  just  as  usual — he's  so  heavy  that  I  always  hold 
my  breath  when  he  gets  into  that  rickety  old  'Con 
cord,'  for  fear  the  whole  thing  will  fall  in  pieces." 

"Tell  me  about  Miss  Lois,"  said  Mr.  Eden.  "Is 
she  really  as  stunning  as  every  one  says?" 

"Why,  haven't  you  seen  her?  Oh,  no,  of  course 
not — I  forgot  that  you  didn't  come  to  South  Wilbr'm 
until  January;  and  her  holidays  were  just  over,  then. 

"She  is  my  ideal,  exactly,"  went  on  Rose.     "She's 


52  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

so  tall,  and  strong  and  beautiful — and  she  does  every 
thing  so  well!  She  is  the  most  popular  girl  in  col 
lege  and — " 

"I  know  the  rest.  My  sister  Elizabeth  happens  to 
be  Dean  of  her  college,  you  know,  and  has  filled  her 
letters  full  of  Lois  Sessions,  lately — ever  since  I  came 
here,  in  fact.  Though  Elizabeth  is  so  much  the  elder 
of  the  two  (she  was  twenty-four  when  I  was  born) 
they  get  on  awfully  well  together.  She  thinks,  as 
you  do,  that  Miss  Sessions  is  a  paragon.  Of  course, 
she  is  such  a  dear  friend  of  my  sister,  and  all  that, 
I  shall  be  as  nice  to  her  as  I  know  how;  but  she's 
not  the  type  of  girl  that  appeals  to  me.  I  don't  like 
tall,  athletic  paragons.  I  like  little,  big-eyed  women, 
who  pose  as  Stern  Justice — and,  by  the  way,  I  don't 
think  we  quite  settled  that  matter  about — " 

"Did  you  two  think  I  was  never  comin'  back?" 
broke  in  Em's  strident  but  hospitable  tones.  "I  had 
to  see  about  my  cake,  and  it  turned  out  so  nice  I 
thought  I'd  let  it  cool  and  bring  you  in  some,  and  some 
wine.  You  needn't  be  one  bit  afraid  of  the  wine,  Mr. 
Eden,  it's  only  currant,  and  warranted  not  to  inebriate. 
I  made  it  myself  out  of  my  own  currants.  Now,  do 
have  some !" 

Mr.  Eden,  thus  adjured,  took  some  wine  and  cake, 
after  first  insisting  upon  pouring  out  some  of  the 


ROSE  TAKES  A  WALK  53 

former  for  both  Miss  Ufford  and  Rose — to  Em's  great 
discomfort,  for  it  seemed  "so  disrespectful  to  let  the 
Minister  wait  on  a  body!" 

Em's  "best  room"  was  a  triumph  of  framed  mottoes 
and  "worked"  footstools,  chairbacks  and  seats,  all  em 
broidered  by  her  own  hard-working  fingers. 

A  melodeon  (always  alluded  to  in  South  Wilbr'm 
as  "the  instrument")  stood  between  two  windows,  and 
wax  flowers  upheld  their  heads  stiffly  under  a  glass 
case  on  the  mantel.  Above  this,  hung  Em's  most  cher 
ished  possession,  a  "beautiful  mourning  piece"  con 
sisting  of  a  picture  of  a  luxuriant  weeping  willow  tree 
leaning  tenderly  over  the  left  side  of  a  very  white 
tombstone;  while,  on  the  other  side,  the  tombstone 
was  supported  by  a  slender  and  drooping  lady  in  deep 
est  black,  with  a  very  large  white  handkerchief  held 
over  her  eyes.  This  prevented  her  identification; 
but  she  was,  presumably,  some  dead  and  gone  ances 
tor  of  Em's.  Such  a  "mourning  piece"  would  have 
been  the  height  of  elegance  in  New  England,  years 
ago,  and  nothing  would  have  induced  Miss  Ufford 
to  part  with  hers,  even  now. 

The  room  was  austere  in  aspect,  in  spite  of  its 
many  adornments;  but  all  the  windows  were  open 
to  let  in  the  balmy  spring  air  and  sunshine,  and  Rose 
herself  would  have  brightened  any  spot;  for,  by  this 


54  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

time,  relief  from  care,  good  nursing  and  youth  had 
done  their  work. 

Miss  Ufford  gazed  at  the  girl  with  a  critical  eye, 
as  the  three  sat  talking  together,  and  felt  justly  proud 
of  her  efforts  in  the  transplanting  line :  for  Rose  was 
now  the  glowing  embodiment  of  her  name,  and  the 
white,  drooping  little  figure  of  a  few  weeks  before  was 
hardly  to  be  recognized  in  this  vivid  picture  before 
her. 

"Have  you  got  your  Easter  sermon  ready,  Mr. 
Eden?  You  know  we're  all  expectin'  a  lot,  of  you, 
to-morrow !"  said  Em,  cocking  her  head  archly  in  the 
minister's  direction. 

"I've  done  my  best,  Miss  Ufford.  And,  truly,  one 
could  not  help  feeling  inspired,  with  the  whole  coun 
try  so  lovely,  everywhere  one  looks.  I  don't  believe 
there  was  ever  a  more  beautiful  spot  than  this 
town." 

"I'm  glad  you  like  South  Wilbr'm,"  said  Em. 
"There's  no  finer  place  on  'arth,  we  think,  don't  we, 
Rose?" 

Rose  assented  to  this  and  then  said,  turning  to  Mr. 
Eden: 

"Have  you  done  much  walking  around  the  coun 
try,  outside  the  village?" 

"Quite  a  lot,"  he  answered.     "I  walked  to  North 


ROSE  TAKES  A  WALK  55 

Wilbr'm  yesterday — that's  a  good  tramp,  isn't 
it?" 

"It's  six  miles  straight,"  put  in  Em,  not  giving 
Rose  a  chance  to  answer  the  question.  "It's  a  pretty 
road  to  go  on,  but  I  never  was  partial  to  North 
Wilbr'm — too  full  o'  rattlesnakes.  D'you  ever  hear 
the  poem  about  Lieutenant  Myrick's  son?  It  begins 
this  way: 

'On  Wilbr'm  'mountains  there  did  dwell 
A  likely  youth  was  knozvn  full  well, 
Lieutenant  Myrick's  only  son 
A  likely  youth  nigh  twenty-one. 
i 

On  Friday  morning  he  did  go 
Into  the  'meadow  and  did  mow 
A  round  or  two  and  then  did  feel 
A  pizen  sarpint  at  his  heel!' 

I  forget  the  rest  of  the  poetry,  but  'twas  all  true,  any 
way,  for  my  grandmother  merried  his  great  uncle  for 
her  third  husband;  and  the  story's  come  right  down 
on  both  sides  of  the  house. 

"He  got  bit  by  a  rattlesnake  while  he  was  a-mowin', 
and  he  zigzagged  across  the  cornfield,  tryin'  to  get 
home;  a-callin'  out  as  he  went.  They  tracked  him  by 
the  way  the  cornstalks  was  matted  down.  He  never 
got  to  the  house  but  just  laid  right  down  on  a  rock 


56  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

and  died,  a-callin'  out  to  tell  the  girl  he  loved  that  he 
loved  her  still,  and  should  ha'nt  her  if  she  ever  tried 
to  merry.  Some  say  she  come  up  and  tried  to  save 
his  life  by  suckin'  out  the  poison,  and  swallowed  it,  and 
died  by  his  side.  But  the  common  version  is,  she  went 
into  a  decline  and  died  for  love — I  reckon  the  fear 
of  bein'  ha'nted  had  a  good  deal  to  do  with  it 

"It's  all  printed  in  a  song  book;  an'  folks  used  to 
sing  it  at  Church  Socials  when  I  was  as  young  as 
Rosie  here!  You  can  see  the  rock,  any  day,  if  you 
cross  the  Myrick  lot  to  the  left  of  the  North  Wilbr'm 
road  as  you  rise  to  the  top  of  the  hill. 

"Oh,  North  Wilbr'm  used  to  be  infested  with  rep 
tiles — I  do' no's  it  is  now.  But  once  they  was  havin'  a 
Baptist  immersion — in  the  river.  All  was  a-goin'  well, 
when  one  of  the  brothers — I  ain't  afraid  to  tell  who 
'twas,  either — old  Root — he  thought  he'd  be  on  the 
safe  side  and  be  baptized  in  all  the  townships  that  come 
his  way  (and  Lord  knows  it  would  take  a  good  many 
baptisms  to  wash  his  soul  clean).  Wai,  he'd  been 
a-lookin'  on,  interested,  and,  as  'twas  his  turn,  he  was 
called  upon  to  come  forth  and  be  baptized.  The  min 
ister,  all  drippin',  waded  towards  the  bank,  and  held 
out  an  encouragin'  hand  to  help  the  brother  in. 

"At  this,  old  Root  suddenly  let  out  a  yell  and  says, 
*I  shan't  go  in!' 


ROSE  TAKES  A  WALK  57 

"  'Why,  Brother !'  says  the  minister,  all  shocked. 
'What  do  I  hear?' 

'"I  Shan't  go  in!' 

"  'You  amaze  me !'  cries  the  parson.  'Do  you  mean 
to  say  the  Lord  ain't  called  you?' 

"  'He's  called  me,  sure  enough,  but  I  ain't  a-goin' !' 
shouts  old  Root,  a-shovin'  back  to  git  out  o'  reach 
o'  the  minister's  hand;  while  the  crowd  on  the  bank 
pushed  him  nearer  an'  nearer  the  edge — for  there 
wa'n't  one  there  didn't  want  to  see  him  get  a  good 
duckin'  for  once  in  his  life. 

"  'Once  for  all — will  you  come?'  shouted  the  min 
ister. 

"  'I  shan't  go  in — I  shan't  go  in/  whines  old  Root, 
once  more,  now  shiverin'  from  head  to  foot  from 
fright.  'Paul  Langdon  killed  three  water  snakes  in 
that  thar'  very  spot  where  you're  a-standin' '  (at  that 
the  minister  jumps  sideways)  'and  I  shan't  go  in !' 

"With  that  he  slips  under  the  elbows  of  the  crowd 
and,  'fore  they  knows  it,  he's  disappeared — a  slippery 
reptile  afraid  of  his  kind. 

"I  hope  I  ain't  shocked  you,  Mr.  Eden?"  concluded 
Em  anxiously,  having  been  so  carried  away  by  her 
story  that  she  had  quite  forgotten  she  was  talking1 
to  a  clergyman. 

"Do  I  look  it  ?"  said  Mr.  Eden,  checking  his  laugh- 


58  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

ter  long  enough  to  reply,  then  going  off  into  another 
peal  at  the  remembrance  of  the  persistent  "I  shan't 
go  in!" 

"Em  has  more  good  stories  up  her  sleeve  than  any 
one  I  know,"  said  Rose.  "Think  what  fun  it  is  to 
live  with  her !" 

"How  do  you  like  the  way  the  ladies  have  trimmed 
the  church?"  said  Em,  modestly  changing  the  subject. 
"Don't  you  think  they  done  well — that  is,  as  far  as 
they've  went?" 

"Indeed  I  do — and  that  reminds  me — aren't  you  and 
Miss  Rose  going  to  come  and  help  us  put  on  the  fin 
ishing  touches?  I  promised  Mrs.  Sessions  and  Miss 
Beebe  that  I'd  look  in,  this  evening,  with  a  stepladder, 
and  put  up  the  long  festoons  that  are  to  go  over  the 
windows — and  I  know  I'll  never  be  able  to  get  them 
up  evenly  without  you  to  tell  me  when  I'm  doing 
wrong !" 

Both  Miss  Ufford  and  Rose  started  to  speak  at  once, 
but  Rose  got  in  ahead,  and,  with  a  mischievous  look 
at  Em,  said : 

"I'll  be  delighted  to  come,  Mr.  Eden,  but  Miss  Uf 
ford  has  a  pressing  engagement  at  home — " 

"Rosie  Warren,  don't  you  dare  go  off  and  leave 
me  alone  with  that  man  again!"  Em  fairly  shouted. 
"You  know  he  never  misses  a  Saturday  night, — an' 


ROSE  TAKES  A  WALK  59 

'tain't  fair  for  you  to  desert  me  when  I've  stood  by 
you  through  thick  and  thin!" 

Rose  and  Mr.  Eden  went  into  shrieks  of  laughter, 
while  Em  glared  wildly  from  one  Jo  the  other  and 
sought  in  vain  for  arguments  that  would  persuade 
Rose  to  stay  and  bear  half  the  burden  of  Charles  Reu 
ben  Isham's  inevitable  Saturday  night  call. 

"I'm  still  in  the  dark,  Miss  Ufford,  as  to  why  you 
don't  come  with  us,"  said  the  minister.  "Mr.  Isham 
hasn't  said  he  was  coming  to-night,  has  he?" 

"No,  he  hain't  said  so  in  so  many  words,  but  he's 
been  a-comin'  every  Saturday  night  regular,  for  sixteen 
years,  an'  my  New  England  conscience  won't  let  me 
go  out  when  I  know  he's  sure  to  call!  Was  ever  a 
body  so  pestered  as  I  am?  Now,  so  long's  Rose  is 
here,  he  don't  do  nothin'  worse  than  shift  from  one 
foot  to  the  other,  an'  toss  his  hat  round  an'  round 
in  his  hands ;  but  just  the  minute  he  gets  settin'  alone 
with  me  a  short  spell,  he  begins  a-spoutin'  poetry  till 
I  declar'  it  does  seem  as  if  I  am  tried  beyond  my 
strength !" 

Here  Rose  and  Mr.  Eden  laughed  again,  and  Rose 
with  a  show  of  great  resignation  agreed  to  stay  at 
home  and  play  gooseberry:  but  this  was  not  accord 
ing  to  Mr.  Eden's  program  at  all,  and  finally,  after 
much  pleading,  he  brought  Em  to  see  that  the  church 


60          THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

really  needed  Rose,  and  that  the  greens  could  not 
be  put  in  place  properly  without  her;  and  that  Miss 
Ufford's  "New  England  conscience"  could  not  consist 
ently  let  her  stand  in  the  way  of  the  church's  good; 
so  it  was  arranged  that  Rose  should  spend  the  evening 
at  the  church  with  the  other  young  people,  while  Em, 
the  light  of  battle  in  her  eye,  prepared  to  hold  the  fort 
at  home. 

As  Rose  and  Mr.  Eden  came  out  of  the  church  door 
after  the  decorating  was  finished,  the  minister  stopped 
and  gazed  up  at  the  starlit  sky. 

"It's  too  beautiful  to  go  home,  yet,"  he  said,  turn 
ing  to  Rose.  "Let's  take  a  walk — I  want  to  talk  to 
you—" 

"I  mustn't  stay  out  long,"  answered  the  girl  as  she 
fell  in  beside  him,  "or  Aunt  Em  will  worry;  she's  al 
ways  imagining  I'm  taking  cold  or  running  into  some 
sort  of  absurd  danger,  if  I'm  out  five  minutes  longer 
than  she  expects;  but  it  is  such  a  splendiferous  night 
— I'll  walk  over  the  bridge  with  you !" 

"Just  that  much?"  Philip  objected  plaintively.  "All 
right,  you  nice  but  stingy  girl,  I'll  try  to  be  thankful 
for  small  mercies.  I  don't  believe  you  like  walking 
with  me  a  bit,"  he  went  on,  looking  down  at  the  very 
small  person  beside  him.  Then  he  added,  wickedly,  "I 


ROSE  TAKES  A  WALK  61 

know  you  don't,  for  you  won't  even  keep  step  with 
me!" 

"Well,  how  is  any  one  to  keep  step  with  a  great 
tall,  long-legged  thing  like  you?"  flashed  Rose,  with 
a  mischievous  little  smile  that  the  moon  (oldest  match 
maker  of  us  all)  caught  and  held  long  enough  for 
Philip  to  see. 

"I  don't  want  'any  one'  to  keep  step  with  me,"  the 
man  said  softly.  "I  only  want  you  to!"  and  with 
quickened  breath  he  gathered  the  slender  little  hand 
nearest  him  into  his  big  palm;  and  still  keeping  close 
hold  of  it  he  slipped  Rose's  arm  under  his  own. 

"This  is  better,  isn't  it — you  funny  little  bit  of  a 
big-eyed  girl?"  he  asked,  looking  down  into  the  face 
upturned  to  his.  "If — if  I  try  to  walk  less  like  a 
giraffe,  do  you  think  you  can  keep  step  with  me? 
Shorter  steps  are  better  anyway,"  he  added,  "for  we 
won't  come  to  the  bridge  quite  so  soon  then." 

But  to  both  of  them  it  seemed  that  they  came  to 
the  bridge  very  soon,  indeed.  There,  by  tacit  consent, 
they  stopped,  and  leaned  over  the  low  parapet  to  gaze 
into  the  river  as  it  gleamed,  clear,  and  silvery  brown, 
in  the  shimmering  moonlight. 

"It's  a  dear  river,"  said  Rose  finally,  in  a  dreamy 
voice.  "I've  always  loved  it.  Some  rivers  are  murky 
and  creepy  and  treacherous  looking ;  but  this  is  so  clear 


62          THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

and  clean  and — honest,  somehow!  It's  like  looking 
right  down  into  a  beautiful  heart  that  has  nothing  to 
conceal." 

"No  one  but  you  would  ever  have  thought  of  it," 
said  Philip.  "It's  because  you  have  that  sort  of  a 
heart,  yourself.  Oh,  little  Rose,"  he  whispered  huskily, 
"you  don't  know  what  it  has  meant  to  me  to  find  you 
here!  I  was  so  sort  of  lonely  and  homesick  when  I 
first  came,  and  so  afraid  I  couldn't  make  good." 

"I  know,"  said  Rose.  "I  knew  all  the  time  how 
hard  it  must  be  for  you,  and  yet  I  knew,  too,  that 
you  were  going  to  make  good."  Impulsively  she  pat 
ted  Philip's  arm  with  her  free  hand.  Whereat,  that 
was  also  seized  and  imprisoned. 

"It  was  you  who  helped  me  to  succeed,  if  I  have  suc 
ceeded,"  Philip  went  on.  "Just  you !  You  taught  me 
really  to  know  all  the  dear,  queer  people  in  this  town 
— you  told  me  things  about  them  that  helped — that 
I  couldn't  have  found  out,  myself,  in  ten  years  and 
that  made  it  possible  for  me  to  understand  and  help 
them." 

"It's  just  because — " 

"It's  just  because  you  are  you"  interrupted  Philip, 
"and  I  need  you  very  much.  Promise  to  keep  on  help 
ing  me — and  promise  never  to  call  me  Mr.  Eden  again 
— just  'Philip* — and  never  to  go  away  from  South 


ROSE  TAKES  A  WALK  63 

Wilbr'm — and  promise — no,  I — I  can't  ask  you  that 
last  promise,  for  I've  no  right.  I'm  not  even  an  or 
dained  minister,  yet;  but  I  guess  you  know  how  I — 
I  feel  about  you — don't  you?" 

"Dear  Philip,"  said  Rose  quietly,  though  her  hand 
trembled  in  his,  "of  course  I'll  go  on  helping  you,  all 
I  can!  I'd  do  that,  anyway,  without  any  promise — 
you  know  that ;  but  you  are  not  going  to  need  me,  or 
any  one,  long;  for  you're  going  to  be  a  great  man; 
and  do  big  things  in  the  world.  I'm  as  sure  of  it," 
the  little  prophetess  went  on,  "as  I  am  that  the  moon 
is  shining  on  that  big  bowlder  over  there  by  the  wa 
ter's  edge.  But  I'm  so  proud  to  have  you  think  you 
need  me — just  as  proud  as  if  you  really  did !"  And  for 
the  second  time  that  evening  the  moon  surprised  her 
in  a  smile — only  this  time  the  smile  was  not  mis 
chievous.  It  was  very  tender  and  a  tiny  bit  sad. 

"Rose,"  burst  out  Philip,  "I — I  have  everything  in 
the  world  to  tell  you — and  to  ask  you — and  I  haven't 
any  right — yet — " 

"Then  don't  tell  me  anything  more,"  Rose  mur 
mured,  hesitatingly.  "To-night  is  so  perfect.  The 
loveliest  Easter  Eve  I've  ever  known.  Let's  keep  it 
just  as  it  is!"  Then,  speaking  more  lightly,  "Shall  we 
be  like  Joe  Gargery  and  Pip — 'Ever  the  best  of 
friends'?" 


64  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

"Ever  the  best  of  friends,"  answered  Philip  ear 
nestly, — "you  little  saint!" 

They  turned  back  over  the  bridge,  and  hardly  spoke 
during  the  short  walk  up  the  hill  to  Em's  house;  but 
when  they  reached  the  door,  Philip  seemed  to  find  it 
very  hard  to  leave. 

"Rose — "  he  began. 

"Ever  the  best  of  friends. — Good-night !"  whispered 
Rose,  laughing  a  little.  "Now  say  it!" 

"Ever  the  best  of  friends. — Good-night,"  Philip 
whispered  obediently. 

"Good-night,  little  Rose,"  he  said  softly  to  the  closed 
door,  as  he  started  down  the  hill 


CHAPTER  IV 
EM  "ENTERTAINS  COMPANY" 

EM'S  stay-at-home  evening  had  not  been  lonely; 
though  moonlight  had  played  far  less  part  in  it  than 
in  Rose's  homeward  walk  with  Philip. 

Promptly  at  eight  o'clock  the  door  bell  rang,  and 
in  walked  Charles  Reuben  Isham,  self-styled  "Poet 
Laureate  of  South  Wilbr'm  and  Bard  of  the 
World." 

No  matter  what  the  time  of  day,  Charles  Reuben 
always  wore  a  shiny  frock  coat;  and,  balanced  jauntily 
on  the  extreme  right  side  of  his  head,  a  shiny  high 
hat.  To-night  his  fancy  light  cravat  was  ornamented 
by  a  large  horse-shoe  scarf-pin;  this  coquettish  touch 
being  added  in  the  hope  of  pleasing  Em.  He  was 
pathetic,  but  he  did  not  know  it. 

As  Em,  kerosene  lamp  in  hand,  ushered  him  into 
the  best  room,  and  then  set  the  lamp  on  the  center 
table,  he  flashed  a  smile  made  brilliant  by  two  rows 
of  tiny,  dazzling,  blue- white  false  teeth.  Then,  as  she 
composed  herself  (on  the  most  uncomfortable  chair 
she  could  find)  to  listen  to  the  "Pearls  of  thought"' 

6s 


66  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

(as  Charles  Reuben  himself  would  have  styled  them) 
about  to  issue  from  between  the  pearly  teeth,  he  be 
gan: 

"It's  a  fine  evenin',  Em!" 

"You  don't  say!  Now,  however  could  you  hev 
thought  of  anything  so  original  to  speak  about? 
You'll  burst  your  brain,  Charles  Reuben,  if  it  con 
tains  such  great  thoughts — you'd  better  take  care." 

"Oh,  it  don't  trouble  me  at  all,  Em,"  answered 
Charles  Reuben  innocently.  "My  thoughts  run  that 
way,  unbeknownst.  Wakin'  and  sleepin'  I'm  a  poet, 
but  most  of  all,  I'm  inspired  by  you — why,  this  very 
night,  as  I  was  a-comin' — " 

"Look  out — "  broke  in  Em.  "For  the  land's  sake, 
Charles  Reuben,  you  nearly  upset  my  best  lamp  onto 
the  floor!  If  you  must  rock  so  hard,  do  move  the 
rocker  away  from  the  table,  or  you'll  upset  the  whole 
thing  and  I'll  have  a  house  a-fire !" 

"I  venture  to  inquire  if  this  house  is  insured, 
Em?" 

"Yes,  it  is  insured,  but  what's  that  to  you,  Charles 
Reuben?  If  you  wa'n't  so  interested  in  other  people's 
business,  maybe  you'd  hev  time  to  do  a  little  more 
of  your  own,  once  in  a  while,  an'  not  set  around  all 
day  and  write  them  frightful  rhymes  an'  let  your  poor, 
hard-workin'  sister  take  care  of  you — an'  she  a  widder 


EM  "ENTERTAINS  COMPANY"          67 

woman  and  as  good  as  gold!  I  declar'  it's  a  shame, 
an'  I  don't  know  why  I  keep  on  a-lettin'  you  come  here 
— it  seems  almost  a  slight  to  your  sister,  Experience, 
me  lettin'  you  keep  on  comin';  an'  we  might's  well 
hev  an  end  of  it  right  here  an'  now!" 

"Oh,  Experience,  she — she  likes  to  have  me  come 
here,  Em.  She's  hopin'  you'll  take  a  fancy  to  me  one 
of  these  days!"  Charles  Reuben  said,  pausing  with  a 
roguish  look. 

"Oh,  law,  Charles  Reuben!  You  might's  well  give 
over  that  kind  o'  talk.  My  independence  is  too  good 
to  throw  away.  All  your  talkin'  an'  hintin'  won't  help 
you,  for  it  takes  three  to  make  a  pair — countin'  in 
the  minister, — and  that  sum's  too  complicated  for  me 
to  attempt  first  or  last.  Any  fool  can  get  merried, 
Charles  Reuben.  It  don't  take  no  knack  at  all.  Take 
my  advice  and  keep  out  of  it.  Why,  even  Adam  had 
his  little  troubles,  I'll  warrant — and  look  how  much 
worse  off  he  was  after  he  merried  Eve !  They  hadn't 
been  merried  any  time  at  all,  before  she  began  pes- 
terin'  him  about  settin'  a  more  elaborate  table;  fruit 
for  breakfast  and  all  that!  Next,  come  her  winter 
wardrobe!  He  never  thought  of  that  when  he  was 
a-courtin'  her,  you  may  be  sure.  So  be  content  to  stay 
single,  as  I  am — and  spend  your  time  a-helpin'  Ex 
perience.  She  needs  you  an'  I  don't,  that's  sure  1" 


68  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

"She's  very  fond  of  me,"  the  poet  answered  re 
proachfully.  "And  she  thinks  Charles  Reuben  Isham 
oughtn't  stoop  to  do  chores  or  work  around  the  place ! 
It  would  break  her  heart  to  have  me !  She  appreciates 
my  poems.  And,  by  the  way — ah — "  (drawing  a 
folded  piece  of  foolscap  from  his  pocket)  "here  is  a 
little  thing  that  formed  in  my  brain  as  I  wandered 
down  this  evenin' — I  stopped  in  the  Post  Office  and 
wrote  it.  I  should  like  to  read  it  to  you." 

Em  folded  her  arms  and  sat  bolt  upright,  with  the 
distant  light  of  a  martyr  in  her  protruding  eyes  and 
her  mouth  shut  just  as  tightly  as  possible. 

"Ahem!"  (crossing  his  knees  slowly  and  with  great 
care) : 

"The  eve  is  fair,  the  "breezes  blow, 
The  Poet  is  going  to  see  his  love,  you  know. 
Her  eyes  are  blue  and  her  name  is  Em, 
Her  lips  have  roses  painted  on  them" 

(Here  Em  jumped  forward — but  he  calmly  explained 
with  a  wave  of  the  hand — "Figurative  roses — figura 
tive  roses — "  and  she  subsided.) 

"The  moon  comes  up  and  says  to  me 
How  can  Miss  Ufford  so  hard-hearted  be? 
I  know  many  maidens  who  proud  would  be 
To  wed  with  thee,  O  Bard  so  free! 


EM  "ENTERTAINS  COMPANY"          69 

"But  her  heart  so  good  is  all  made  of  stone 
And  rather  than  marry  me  she  prefers  to  live  alone, 
While  forever  must  I  over  the  whole  world  roam, 
Just  because  Em  Ufford  refuses  to  give  me  a  home! 
"Signed,  Charles  Reuben  Isham." 

His  effusions  were  always  signed  orally  in  this 
way. 

With  a  killing  look  at  Em,  Charles  Reuben  folded 
up  the  paper  and  unfolded  his  legs.  Rising,  he  pre 
sented  the  poem  to  Em,  with  a  deep  bow. 

"Am  I  to  add  this  to  my  collection?"  said  Em 
tartly. 

"If  you'd  be  so  obligin',"  answered  Charles  Reu 
ben,  resuming  his  seat.  "My  heart  is  in  that  poem 
entwined.  Cherish  it  well  if  so  inclined. 

We're  growing  older  every  day — 

Take  care  you  don't  throw  your  very  last  chance  away! 

See  how  easy  it  comes?  I  can't  talk  out  o'  poetry 
when  basking  in  the  light — " 

"Now,  Charles  Reuben  Isham,  don't  go  too  far. 
You're  welcome  to  come  here,  if  it  does  you  any  good, 
an'  you're  welcome  to  a  chair  in  my  best  room  and 
the  light  of  my  parlor  lamp;  but  don't  you  abuse  your 
privileges.  The  Lord  didn't  give  me  a  taste  for  your 
poetry — he  give  me  common  sense — hard  common 


70  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

sense,  instead — and  that's  a  good  deal  more  fillin'  in 
the  long  run,  I'll  venture  to  say.  Now  I  don't  intend 
to  listen  to  any  more  lines  about  my  'painted  lips,' 
or  hints  about  my  age — I'm  younger5  n  you  are  by  three 
years;  but  aside  from  the  verse  makin'  an'  general 
shiftlessness,  I've  no  objection  to  you.  So,  as  long's 
you're  here,  just  come  down  to  'arth  and  talk  so  plain 
folks  can  listen  to  you  comfortably." 

Charles  Reuben  surreptitiously  patted  an  inside 
pocket,  where  lay  another  poetic  effusion,  and  with 
deep  regret  resigned  himself  to  the  will  of  his  adored 
one.  He  confined  his  conversation  to  ordinary  topics, 
for  the  rest  of  the  evening,  albeit  he  punctuated  his 
remarks  with  such  lovelorn  looks  that  if  Miss  Ufford 
had  not  a  "heart  all  made  of  stone"  she  must  certainly 
have  been  moved  to  relenting. 

As  the  clock  struck  ten,  Charles  Reuben  got  up,  said 
good-night,  and  started  for  home.  This  he  had  done 
for  sixteen  years,  even  as  he  always  made  his  appear 
ance  at  the  appointed  moment.  Apparently,  he  thought 
being  bullied  by  Em  for  two  hours  every  week  was  the 
height  of  bliss;  for  he  always  beamed  graciously,  on 
the  surrounding  landscape,  all  the  way  home  after 
an  evening  spent  in  this  way. 

"There's  a  lampful  of  good  oil  wasted,"  said  Em 
to  herself  as  she  blew  out  the  parlor  light,  "but  I 


EM  "ENTERTAINS  COMPANY"          71 

suppose  it  does  the  poor  critter  good  to  come  here 
once  in  a  while.    Painted  roses — huh!" 

And  with  that  she  locked  the  windows  and  went 
upstairs  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  V 
"THE  YEAR  OF  JUBILEE  is  COME!" 

IT  was  Easter  morning  and  the  sweet-toned  church 
bells  were  all  ringing.  There  were  four  of  them,  for, 
although  a  tiny  village,  South  Wilbr'm  boasted  of  four 
churches :  Congregational,  Methodist,  Baptist,  and  Ro 
man  Catholic.  The  townspeople  could  easily  have  been 
welded  into  one  good-sized  congregation ;  and  on  Sun 
day  evenings  the  Protestants  combined  in  a  Union 
Meeting;  held  alternately  in  each  of  the  three  churches. 
But  for  morning  service  the  dividing  line  of  doctrinal 
teaching  was  very  tightly  drawn  and  each  shepherd 
ministered  unto  his  own  flock  in  his  own  place  of 
worship. 

The  Congregational  Church,  a  quaint  old-fashioned 
building,  was  the  largest  of  the  three,  and  held  the  big 
gest  membership  roll;  although  until  Mr.  Eden  came 
to  town  the  church  had  been  more  than  half  empty, 
most  of  the  time.  He  had  done  much  to  build  up 
the  attendance,  even  in  the  few  months  he  had  been 
with  the  people;  for  they  were  judges  of  good  preach- 

72 


"THE  YEAR  OF  JUBILEE  IS  COME!"       73 

ing;  and  Philip  Eden  was  a  sincere,  deep-thinking 
man,  with  a  magnetic  personality. 

On  this  particular  morning,  he  was  feeling  a  trifle 
nervous;  for  it  was  to  be  his  first  Easter  sermon  and 
he  knew  how  much  was  expected  of  him. 

As  he  sat  behind  the  high  old-fashioned  pulpit,  he 
watched  the  entrance  of  the  people  from  the  two  doors 
at  the  back  of  the  church.  A  short  flight  of  steps 
led  to  the  auditorium  from  the  vestibule  below,  where 
the  bell-ringer  stood  methodically  pulling  the  long 
rope;  and  greeting  the  incomers,  every  one,  by  name. 

In  the  organ  loft  the  choir  were  already  gathered, 
and  Mrs.  Sessions,  who  was  a  born  musician,  was 
getting  all  the  music  possible  out  of  the  wheezy  old 
reed-organ.  She  and  the  choir  often  got  into  heated 
arguments  anent  the  church  music.  As  it  was  a  case 
of  three  to  one,  Mrs.  Sessions  was  almost  invariably 
a  small  but  select  minority  regarding  the  choice  of 
anthems;  but  she  reigned  supreme  when  it  came  to 
organ  solos.  And,  this  morning,  with  the  softer  stops 
of  the  organ  on,  she  was  playing  Mendelssohn's 
"Spring  Song"  delightfully. 

It  seemed  to  Mr.  Eden  that  nothing  could  be  love 
lier  than  the  world  about  him.  The  quaint  old 
church,  all  sweet  with  spring  flowers  and  Easter  dec 
orations,  the  mellow  church  bell,  the  warm  sunshine, 


74 

and  through  the  open  windows  the  sight  of  the  eternal 

hills,  and  the  soft  blue  sky  beyond. 

Up  the  stairs  came  a  steady  creak  of  Sunday  boots, 
as  one  farmer  after  another  tiptoed  to  his  pew.  Every 
where  were  Easter  bonnets  and  gay  attire,  and  a  gen 
eral  air  of  expectancy  and  interest  as  each  new  step 
was  heard. 

Em  Ufford,  in  rustling  black  silk  and  with  white 
lace  at  throat  and  wrists,  was  in  her  place,  with  her 
two  proteges  beside  her. 

Rose,  soft-eyed  and  gentle,  looked  as  sweet  as  the 
big  bunch  of  arbutus  she  wore ;  and  many  glances  were 
cast  her  way  by  admiring  South  Wilbr'm  swains. 

Just  in  front  of  the  Ufford  pew  sat  benign  Deacon 
Cone,  with  Mrs.  Cone  and  their  large  family  of  sons 
— the  latter  all  home  from  various  parts  of  the  United 
States  for  Easter  Sunday. 

The  Deacon  and  his  wife  looked  beatifically  happy, 
and  the  Cone  boys  created  quite  a  flutter  among  the 
feminine  portion  of  the  congregation. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  church  sat  Mrs.  Cur 
rier — stone  deaf ;  but  who  never  missed  a  service.  She 
was  quite  bald ;  but  had  a  curious  stubble  of  gray  beard 
about  her  chin.  She  was  regarded  as  a  witch  by  the 
children  because  of  this,  and  the  fact  that  she  kept 
twenty  cats,  and  was  never  known  to  talk  to  any  one, 


"THE  YEAR  OF  JUBILEE  IS  COME!"        75 

•—except  these  cats,  now  presumably  shut  up  in  the 
house  and  wailing  for  her  return. 

Danny  sat  gazing  across  at  her  with  big,  round, 
rather  frightened  eyes,  and  grabbed  Rose's  arm,  as 
"Mis'  Currier,"  attracted  by  his  stare,  turned  her  per 
fectly  harmless  but  fierce-looking  gaze  in  his  direc 
tion. 

Behind  her  was  the  Sessions  pew,  still  empty,  as 
Mrs.  Sessions  was  at  the  organ  and  the  doctor  was 
always  late.  There  was  much  speculation  whether 
Lois  would  be  there,  and  what  she  would  have  on. 

A  few  seats  back  of  the  Sessions  pew  sat  Charles 
Reuben,  in  the  inevitable  frock  coat,  and  with  him 
his  sister — or  rather,  there  was  his  sister  and  with  her 
Charles  Reuben;  for  she  it  was  who  paid  the  pew 
rent,  paid  for  Charles  Reuben's  clothes — for  every 
thing,  in  fact,  pertaining  to  either  of  them.  She  was 
a  rather  pretty,  faded  little  woman  of  fifty-odd  years, 
much  given  to  big  sashes,  pale  blue  bows  and  other 
infantine  and  coquettish  styles  of  dress.  As  Em  once 
said,  "What  come  out  in  Charles  Reuben  as  poems, 
come  out  in  his  sister  Experience  as  sash  ribbons!" 
She  also  carried  a  palpably  affected  lisp,  and  when 
ever  and  as  long  as  she  spoke,  her  eyelids  kept  up 
a  frantic  flutter  ("like  lightning,"  as  Danny  had  re 
marked),  but  every  one  forgave  her  her  affectations, 


76  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

for  she  was  a  devoted  sister  to  Charles  Reuben,  and 
one  of  the  hardest-working,  most  capable  women  in  the 
church. 

She  had  a  brave  spirit  that  had  carried  her  through 
much  trouble. 

As  the  hands  of  the  clock  pointed  to  half  after  ten, 
the  bell  stopped  ringing  and  Mrs.  Sessions  played  the 
opening  strains  of  the  Doxology.  Rising  and  turn 
ing  their  backs  on  the  minister  and  facing  the  organ 
loft,  the  congregation  burst  into  song. 

Out  above  the  whole  assembly  soared  the  fog-horn 
voice  of  Jane  Bliss,  standing  in  the  very  center  of 
the  choir  loft,  and  flanked  on  one  side  by  Calista  Beebe, 
on  the  other  by  Alonzo  Day. 

The  congregation  did  its  best,  but  one  might  as  well 
try  to  sing  against  a  cyclone  as  against  Jane  Bliss, 
and  at  the  end  of  the  stanza,  people  resumed  their 
seats  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

In  the  responsive  reading,  Deacon  Cone's  pleasant 
voice  always  led  the  worshipers  in  answer  to  Mr. 
Eden's;  while  Em  Ufford  chimed  in  a  close  second, 
and  the  rest  of  the  congregation  followed  on  as  best 
they  could,  like  a  flock  of  scrambling  sheep.  Where 
the  verbal  ground  was  particularly  rough,  there  was 
considerable  scattering  among  some  of  the  slow  farm 
ers  from  "over  East,"  whose  schooling  had  left  much 


"THE  YEAR  OF  JUBILEE  IS  COME!"       77 

to  be  desired.  However,  they  made  up  for  sliding  over 
the  long  words  they  didn't  know,  by  coming  in  dou 
bly  strong  on  the  short  words  they  did  know,  and 
the  fervor  of  the  responses  remained,  as  a  whole,  un- 
diminished. 

Thus  the  service  progressed  according  to  time- 
honored  custom. 

Mr.  Eden  was  in  the  midst  of  the  beautiful  Easter 
chapter,  the  twentieth  of  John,  when,  hearing  a  slight 
rustle,  he  glanced  up  mechanically  from  the  open 
page. 

Miss  Ufford,  whose  gaze  had  been  fixed  on  him, 
followed  the  direction  of  his  look,  and  saw  that  the 
late  comer  was  Lois  Sessions,  who,  slipping  quietly 
into  her  father's  pew,  returned  the  young  minister's 
accidental  glance  with  frank  interest. 

Lois'  worst  enemy  could  not  have  called  her  less 
than  beautiful.  Mrs.  Sessions  had  been  a  beauty,  and 
was  still  a  fine-looking  woman.  Lois  had  her  moth 
er's  classic  features,  with  her  father's  tall,  strong  body. 
Her  fluffy,  golden  hair,  fair  skin  and  deep  brown  eyes 
were  never  lovelier  than  on  that  Easter  morning,  set 
off,  as  they  were,  by  a  big  black  hat.  She  wore  a 
perfectly  plain  light-gray  suit,  the  only  touch  of  color 
besides  her  flower  face  being  a  bunch  of  crocuses. 

Em  whispered  to  Rose:  "She  looks  quiet  enough, 


78  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

but  I'll  bet  that  tailor  suit  cost  seventy-five  dollars, 
if  it  cost  a  cent — and  I'll  bet  her  father  and  mother 
went  without  new  shoes  to  get  it,  too !" 

Lois  undoubtedly  produced  a  sensation  all  over  the 
church;  but  suddenly,  attention  was  diverted  into  an 
other  channel.  People  sat  bolt  upright.  Something 
was  happening  to  the  choir.  They  were  in  the  midst 
of  a  nerve-wracking  Easter  anthem,  when  the  organ 
gave  a  groan,  shivered  down  the  descending  scale,  and 
stopped !  The  voices  trailed  off  into  nothingness,  and 
their  owners  turned  around  to  glare  at  the  offending 
"instrument." 

Mrs.  Sessions  thumped  and  pushed  with  all  her 
might;  but  no  music  was  forthcoming,  and  she  was 
forced  to  give  up  in  despair. 

Any  other  choir  would  have  been  discouraged  at 
such  action  on  the  part  of  the  fussy,  officious  organ; 
not  so  this  choir!  Presently,  the  clump-clumping  of 
descending  feet,  shod  in  country  boots,  was  heard,  and 
simultaneously  the  rustling  of  Sunday  silks.  The 
choir  were  coming  downstairs,  led  by  the  organist! 

With  head  up,  red  of  face,  but  undaunted;  Easter 
bonnets  shaking  with  the  defiant  tread  of  the  owners, 
they  marched  along  the  side  aisle,  and  up  to  the  front 
of  the  church,  by  the  pulpit,  where  stood  a  piano,  for 
use  in  Sunday  School  and  Young  People's  Meetings. 


"THE  YEAR  OF  JUBILEE  IS  COME!"       79 

This,  Mrs.  Sessions  quickly  took  possession  of,  gave 
the  word,  and  the  choir  once  more  started  off  in  the 
race,  picking  up  the  thread  of  their  interrupted  dis 
course  just  where  it  had  broken  off — in  the  middle  of 
a  phrase ! 

A  number  of  small  boys  giggled,  Danny  among 
them;  but  the  rest  of  the  congregation  took  the  per 
formance  philosophically.  They  were  too  used  to  hav 
ing  the  organ  go  on  strike  and  the  choir  descend  to 
the  ranks,  to  be  greatly  excited. 

No  one  was  disappointed  in  the-  sermon.  Philip 
Eden  distinguished  himself.  His  address  was  worthy 
of  an  older  and  far  more  experienced  man.  It  was 
a  sermon  of  peace  and  love  and  good-will,  with  an 
earnest  plea  to  all  to  profit  by  the  significance  of  the 
Resurrection — to  start  afresh  in  the  light  of  Christ's 
redeeming  love,  leaving  all  sin  and  darkness  be 
hind. 

There  was  no  one  in  the  church  who  did  not  feel 
the  better  for  that  sermon. 

Not  until  the  last  singing  (during  which  the  con 
gregation  always  remained  seated)  did  Mr.  Eden  trust 
himself  to  look  at  Rose;  but  when  the  multitude  struck 
out  on  Wesley's  grand  old  hymn,  "Blow  ye  the  trum 
pet,  blow !" — then  he  looked  at  her — he  could  not  help 
it!  Over  the  top  of  her  hymn  book  she  looked  at 


8o  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

him,  and  in  that  look  time  and  space  were  swallowed 
up,  for  both  of  them.  All  they  knew  was  that  many 
voices,  as  of  angels  (theirs  among  the  number,  though 
they  were  not  conscious  of  it)  were  singing,  "The 
Year  of  Jubilee  is  come — the  Year  of  Jubilee  is  come !" 
and  to  them  it  was  all  heavenly  joy. 

To  their  dying  day,  neither  of  them  was  to  forget 
that  hymn. 

Church  over  and  the  benediction  pronounced,  every 
one  gathered  in  and  around  the  vestibule  for  a  little 
neighborly  exchange  of  greeting,  before  separating 
until  evening  worship.  Mr.  Eden  was  introduced  to 
Lois  by  the  doctor;  who  had  tiptoed  into  church  when 
the  service  was  nearly  finished,  having  been  detained 
by  a  very  sick  patient  "over  the  mountain." 

As  the  three  stood  talking,  Em  came  along  and 
joined  them.  She  always  walked  home  from  church 
with  "Doctor's  folks,"  as  Rose  and  Danny  stayed  to 
Sunday  School.  Rose  had  charge  of  the  infant  class, 
and  was  properly  adored  by  one  and  all  of  her 
scholars. 

Em  and  the  doctor  started  on  ahead,  while  Lois, 
waiting  for  her  mother,  stood  chatting  with  Philip. 

In  a  moment  Mrs.  Sessions  came  rushing  up  to  say 
that  the  sexton  had  promised  to  fix  the  organ  before 
Sunday  School  began,  and  she  didn't  dare  leave  him 


"THE  YEAR  OF  JUBILEE  IS  COME!"       Ci 

alone  "for  fear  he'd  ruin  it  forever!"  So  Lois  and 
the  young  man  wandered  through  the  village  together 
toward  the  Sessions'  house,  where  the  minister  always 
took  his  Sunday  dinner. 


CHAPTER  VI 

ON    THE   DOCTOR'S   LAWN 

"IT'S  awfully  nice  really  to  meet  you  at  last,  Miss 
Sessions;  I've  heard  so  much  about  you  from  my  sis 
ter,"  Philip  was  saying. 

"No  doubt  she  has  made  me  out  a  paragon,"  an 
swered  Lois.  "Just  as  she  has  exalted  you  to  the 
skies  whenever  she  has  spoken  of  you  to  me.  Now, 
we've  got  to  make  it  the  business  of  our  lives  to  find 
out  how  wrong  she  is,  I  suppose.  That's  the  way  peo 
ple  always  do  when  they're  brought  together  with  the 
command,  'Now  like  one  another — '  and  they  invaria 
bly  end  by  hating  each  other — it  never  fails!" 

"Miss  Sessions !  You  frighten  me  to  death !  Don't 
you  suppose  that  if  we  try  solemnly  to  forget  every 
word  of  Elizabeth's  flights  of  eloquence,  we  can  pos 
sibly  live  the  effects  of  it  down?  I'll  try  if  you  will 
— here's  my  hand  on  it !" 

Lois  instantly  put  out  her  shapely  hand  in  its  long 
gray  glove,  and  it  was  swallowed  up  in  the  minister's 
big  brown  fingers,  while  with  a  whimsical  little  laugh 
the  girl  gave  her  companion  an  inscrutable  look  which 

82 


ON  THE  DOCTOR'S  LAWN  83 

set  him  to  wondering.  He  joined  in  the  laugh,  how 
ever,  and  somehow  after  that  they  felt  as  if  they 
had  known  each  other  for  years. 

"Tell  me,  honestly,"  Lois  said,  "what  do  you  think 
of  South  Wilbr'm — and  South  Wilbr'm  people  ?  Don't 
give  me  a  politic  answer,  but  a  really  true  one !" 

"My  really  true  answer  is  that  South  Wilbr'm  is 
the  dearest,  quaintest  little  hamlet  I've  ever  been  in — 
and  the  people  are  dear  and  quaint  too,  and  of  splen 
did  New  England  stock,  withal !" 

"It  is  a  dear  place,  in  a  way,  but  it's  all  so  deadly 
slow !"  said  Lois  with  a  pretty  but  jather  scornful  twist 
of  her  very  expressive  eyebrows.  "It's  all  part  of  a 
sweet  picture,  but  to  live  in — heavens!  I  confess 
frankly  that  the  place  and  the  people  bore  me  to  death !" 

Philip  was  a  little  surprised,  for  he  genuinely  loved 
the  old.  town  and  its  good  folk ;  but  his  momentary 
feeling  of  dismay  was  utterly  lost  in  the  charitable 
thought  that  the  glamor  cast  by  the  girl's  happy,  busy, 
college  life  must,  of  necessity,  make  everything  else 
seem  dull  by  comparison,  until  time  should  give  her 
the  right  perspective. 

Lois  was  not  slow  to  see  that  she  had  made  a  wrong 
turning,  and  quickly  recovered  the  ground  she  had 
lost  by  showing  a  pretty  interest  in  the  Minister's 
church  plans  and  his  work  among  the  poor. 


•84  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

At  this  point,  the  distant  back  of  the  massive  doc 
tor,  and  that  of  little,  bent  Miss  Ufford,  were  seen 
to  turn  in  at  the  Sessions'  house,  and  go  toward  a 
group  of  chairs  that  always  stood  invitingly  on  the 
center  of  the  lawn  in  pleasant  weather,  mutely  express 
ing  the  warm-hearted  hospitality  of  their  owners,  to  all 
who  would  profit  thereby. 

The  doctor  ambled  along  in  a  large  easy  manner, 
while  Em  hopped  quickly  up  and  down  by  his  side, 
trying  to  keep  pace  with  him. 

"Did  you  ever  see  anything  so  lovely  as  Em  Uf- 
ford's  walk?"  asked  Lois.  "That's  her  Sunday 
walk—" 

"Why  Sunday,  any  more  than  any  other  day?" 
asked  Eden. 

"I  don't  know,  except  that  I've  noticed  it  ever  since 
I  was  a  little  girl.  That  extra  hitch  to  the  shoulders 
is  brought  out  and  put  on  with  her  black  silk  frock 
on  Sunday  morning  and,  presumably,  laid  away  with 
it  on  Sunday  night.  I  never  knew  any  one  so  con 
sistently  put  together  as  Em.  Her  thin,  sharp  nose 
is  just  like  her  thin,  sharp  voice.  Her  thin,  sharp  voice 
is  just  like  the  sharp  things  she  says  out  of  her  thin 
lips.  Her  thin,  sharp  chin  is  just  like  her  thfn,  sharp 
shoulders,  and  her  walk  is  just  like  all  the  rest  of 


ON  THE  DOCTOR'S  LAWN  85, 

her,  even  to  the  way  she  puts  down  her  thin,  sharp 
feet.  I'm  always  more  or  less  afraid  of  her,  some 
way.  I  shall  never  understand  how  she  came  to  take 
Rose  Warren  and  Danny  under  her  wing — she's  the 
last  person  I  should  suspect  of  anything  of  that  kind; 
but  I  suppose  Dad  had  a  hand  in  it,  didn't  he?  He 
thinks  and  breathes  for  this  village,  poor  Dad!" 

"Yes,  your  father  had  a  hand  in  it,  but  Em  had  a 
heart  in  it,  as  well;  and  she  has  given  those  two  chil 
dren  more  mothering  than  they've  had  in  years.  She's. 
a  staunch  soul — I  hope  you'll  really  get  to  know  her 
some  day." 

"Evidently  you  deem  it  an  honor,"  said  Lois  with 
a  sweet  laugh  that  robbed  the  words  of  any  sarcastic 
tinge  the  minister  might  have  fancied  lay  therein. 

There  was  something  about  Lois'  laugh  that  could 
carry  her  through  anything,  for  its  descending  chro 
matic  had  such  a  ring  of  youth  and  happiness  about 
it  that  one  could  not  help  loving  her  for  it,  whatever 
she  might  say  or  do. 

Her  father  looked  up,  on  hearing  it,  and  the  tender 
expression  with  which  he  invariably  regarded  his  child 
was  mingled  with  one  of  pride,  as  she  and  Mr.  Eden 
swung  easily  onto  the  lawn  and  up  to  where  Em  and 
the  doctor  waited. 


86  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

Em,  for  some  unaccountable  reason,  was  not  over- 
pleased  to  see  the  two  young  people  on  such  exceed 
ingly  good  terms.  She  remarked: 

"Wai,  you  certainly  do  grow  an  inch  or  two  every 
time  I  see  you,  Lois  Sessions!  You'll  be  as  tall  as 
the  Minister  by  the  time  you're  thirty!" 

"Tall  girls  are  the  fashion  now,  Em,"  said  Lois 
calmly,  "and  really,  I'm  not  a  bit  sorry,  for  one  can 
always  look  down  on  one's  smaller  neighbors.  That's 
a  comfort,  don't  you  think?" 

"Times  are  changed,  and  I  suppose  you  play  foot 
ball  and  all  the  things  that  would  of  bin  a  disgrace 
when  we  was  young — wouldn't  they,  Doctor  ?" 

"Yes,  they  would,"  assented  the  doctor,  "but  on  the 
whole  I  think  the  new  times  are  better  than  the  old, 
though"  (with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye  as  he  glanced  at  his 
goddess-like  daughter)  "it's  not  to  be  denied  that  girls 
don't  get  married  as  early  in  life  as  they  used  to. 
They're  so  busy  getting  higher  education  that  they 
haven't  time  for  anything  else." 

"In  my  day,"  said  Em,  "in  my  day,  the  young  ladies 
sat  up  and  worked  samplers  and  done  their  stents  with 
out  any  nonsense  about  higher  education !" 

By  this  time  the  little  circle  had  grown  bigger  by 
the  arrival  of  Charles  Reuben  (who  had  espied  Em 
from  afar)  and  his  sister;  but  Em,  having  become 


ON  THE  DOCTOR'S  LAWN  87 

interested  in  her  subject,  paid  no  attention  to  them 
and  went  right  on: 

"Girls  was  girls,  then,  and  was  content  to  be,  with 
out  havin'  to  race  all  over  lots  after  a  ball,  or  wear 
short  skirts  and  bloomers.  Give  me  the  good  old  days 
when  women  wa'n't  so  anxious  to  be  prominent  out 
doors  but  was  content  to  strive  in  the  home  an'  know 
somethin'  about  the  house!  I  don't  intend  that  Rose 
Warren  shall  be  spoilt  by  any  such  new-fangled  no 
tions!" 

"With  all  due  respect  to  you,  Em,"  said  Lois,  "if 
you  teach  Rose  to  sit  and  mope  in  the  house  and  do 
'stents'  and  things,  she'll  have  the  joy  of  sitting  there 
in  single  blessedness  all  the  days  of  her  natural  life, — 
nobody  wants  to  marry  a  prude,  nowadays." 

"I  thank  my  stars  that  my  Rosie  ain't  the  merryin' 
kind!"  retorted  Em  with  a  toss  of  her  head  and  a 
glance  of  blue  lightning  which  made  Lois  feel  that 
perhaps  she  had  let  her  tongue  run  away  with  her. 
The  lightning  was  aimed  ostensibly  at  Lois;  but  it 
took  in  the  whole  circle.  Eden  felt  it,  and  it  caused 
him  to  redden  a  little,  he  could  not  have  told  why.  The 
doctor  felt  it,  and  instantly  knew  he  was  intended  to 
do  so  because  he  dared  to  be  the  father  of  Lois. 
Charles  Reuben's  sister,  poor  little  Experience  Lee,  felt 
it  and  instantly  withered,  knowing  herself  guilty  to  the 


88          THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

extent  of  being  decidedly  the  "merryin'  kind" — hav 
ing  given  her  hand  and  heart  to  John  Lee  at  the  age 
of  sixteen.  Charles  Reuben  felt  it  both  directly  and 
indirectly.  Directly,  because  every  one  knew  he  had 
been  trying  to  marry  Em  for  years,  and  indirectly,  as 
he  feared  that  Em's  words  showed  an  unalterable  re 
solve  to  stay  single.  He  decided  it  was  time  for  a 
radical  change  of  subject,  and  so,  turning  to  Lois  with 
an  elaborate  bow,  he  said: 

"Miss  Sessions,  knowing  the  honor  to  be  placed  upon 
this  town  of  South  Wilbr'm  by  the  contemplated  re 
turn  of  one  so  fair  and  also  young,  I  have  dared  to 
pen — and  pencil — some  lines  in  honor  of  the  occasion, 
which  to  the  tune  of  'Old  Hundred'  can  be  sung!" 

Every  one  sat  down  at  this,  not  feeling  able  to  bear 
it  standing.  Charles  Reuben  faced  the  semicircle,  with 
high  hat  daintily  poised  over  one  ear  and  his  knock- 
kneed  legs  wide  apart. 

"THE  PRODIGAL'S  RETURN 

I 

"Down  Wilbr'm  street,  the  Heroine 
Wends  her  sweet  steps  with  joy,  we  opine! 
Her  father's  house  door  is  open  wide 
And  if  you'll  look  you'll  see  her  mother  (standing}  just 
inside. 


ON  THE  DOCTOR'S  LAWN  89 

II 

''Long  years  have  passed — or  so  it  seems, 
Since  Lois  Sessions  has  been  here  to  fulfill  our  dreams. 
Her  father's  hair  is  white  as  snow — 
But  then  it  always  was  since  we've  known  him,  you 
know. 

Ill 

"She's  been  to  college,  this  fair  damsel  dear, 
But  we're  glad  she's  home,  that  she  is  here! 
She's  a  scholar  fine,  this  beautiful  young  lass, 
And  we  hope  when  the  prizes  are  given  out,  she'll  be\ 
the  first  in  her  class! 

IV 

"Her  father's  a  doctor,  the  finest  {and  the  only)  in  town. 
His  equal  cannot  be  found 
On  this  or  any  other  ground. 


'Not  even  when  we  cannot  pay  the  bill 
(Of  course  he  knows  that  whenever  we  can  we  will). 
This  is  a  tender  subject  to  us  all — 
Some  that  I  know  have  been  owing  him  ever  since  last 
fall! 

VI 

'But  let  me  not  on  sad  remembrance  dwell, 
Let  me  instead  a  welcome  give  to  this  girl! 
She  is  the  pride  of  her  father  and  mother, 
Neighbors,  college  and  school! 


90  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

May  she  ever  be  happy  and  successful  and  keep  th& 

Golden  Rule, 
Is  the  wish  of  Charles  Reuben  Isham,  Bard  of  New 

England" 

The  Bard  had  begun  the  above  lyric  by  droning  it 
in  a  nasal  way,  to  the  tune  of  "Old  Hundred,"  but  find 
ing  himself  so  often  left  high  and  dry  on  a  note,  with 
six  or  seven  words  still  to  that  note's  credit,  he  dis 
carded  mere  song  and  made  up  for  the  lack  of  it  by 
swaying  back  and  forth  in  time  to  his  words. 

A  vigorous  hand-clapping  from  everybody  except 
Em  greeted  the  reading. 

"Thank  you  ever  so  much,  Mr.  Isham!  I  didn't 
know  I  was  to  become  famous  in  verse!"  broke  in 
Lois  gayly.  "But — "  with  a  laugh  that  seemed  to 
lack  something  of  buoyancy,  " — why,  may  I  ask — 
why  'The  Prodigal's  Return'  ?  I  may  be  in  want,  but 
I  don't  think  any  one  will  accuse  me  of  'wasting  my 
substance  on  riotous  living' !" 

"Oh,  no,  Miss  Sessions,  pardon  me,"  began  Charles 
Reuben  helplessly,  when  Eden  came  to  the  rescue 
with — 

"He  was  thinking  of  the  fatted  calf  that  the  Doc 
tor  would  like  to  kill  as  soon  as  you  got  home — there's 
where  the  'Prodigal'  part  came  in,  wasn't  it,  Mr. 
Isham?" 


ON  THE  DOCTOR'S  LAWN  91 

The  Bard's  false  teeth  gleamed  an  assent. 

"I  guess,  by  the  good  smell  that's  comin'  from  the 
kitchen,  the  calf's  bin  killed  and's  about  ready  to  be 
ate !"  said  Em  with  a  comprehensive  sniff.  "And  here 
comes  Mrs.  Sessions,  so  we  folks  better  be  gettin' 
along  home  an'  leave  you  to  have  your  dinner  in 
peace. 

"Next  time  you  write  a  poem  to  a  young  lady, 
Charles  Reuben,  just  mention  a  word  or  two  about 
her  father — don't  ignore  him  so !"  went  on  Em  in  fine 
sarcasm,  winking  the  eye  away  from  him,  at  the 
others.  "He  ought  to  have  a  couple  o'  lines  anyway! 
Good-day,  everybody." 

Charles  Reuben  did  not  deign  to  reply  to  this,  but 
nevertheless  he  tiptoed  along  nattily,  at  Em's  elbow, 
as  she  started  across  the  lawn  for  home  with  Experi 
ence  Lee  beside  her. 

"How  about  the  organ,  Delia?"  asked  the  doctor. 

"Oh,  it's  all  right  now,  I  think.  We  fussed  over 
it  as  long  as  we  dared,  and  then  I  saw  Deacon  Cone 
look  up  at  the  gallery  appealingly  and  I  knew  we  had 
already  kept  Sunday  School  waiting  ten  minutes,  so 
I  took  pity  on  him  and  came  away. 

"Lois,  you  stay  out  here  and  take  care  of  these 
men  a  moment,  while  I  run  in  and  see  whether  Jenny 
has  managed  to  burn  the  veal." 


92  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

To  Mrs.  Sessions'  surprise  the  other  three  broke 
into  a  laugh,  while  the  minister  exclaimed : 

"I  told  you  there  was  a  fatted  calf  cruising  around 
somewhere!" 

Mrs.  Sessions,  catching  a  whiff  of  the  animal  in 
question,  rushed  off  without  waiting  for  any  explana 
tion,  while  Lois,  always  more  than  content  to  play 
Mary  to  her  mother's  Martha,  turned  her  fullest  at 
tention  to  charming  the  two  men  left  in  her  charge — 
a  thing  which  undoubtedly  she  succeeded  in  doing,  if 
one  might  judge  by  the  look  in  both  pairs  of  eyes 
fixed  admiringly  on  her.  She  was  used  to  the  ex 
pression  in  her  father's  eyes,  but  that  in  Philip  Eden's 
stirred  a  hitherto  untouched  chord  in  her,  and  brought 
a  delicate  flush  to  her  cheek,  in  spite  of  her  outward 
tranquillity. 

A  few  minutes  later,  Mrs.  Sessions'  little  handmaid, 
Jenny,  announced  from  the  doorway,  "You  kin  come 
to  dinner,"  and  they  all  went  in  together. 


CHAPTER  VII 

LOIS    BECOMES   INTERESTED 

THERE  was  something  about  the  very  walls  of  the 
Sessions'  house  that  always  seemed  to  shed  an  atmos 
phere  of  good-fellowship  and  friendliness  on  every 
one  who  entered  it;  and  the  four  people  gathered 
around  the  dinner  table  were  in  the  highest  spirits,  all 
through  the  meal. 

There  was  much  merriment  over  the  episode  of  the 
organ.  Charles  Reuben's  poem  was  rehearsed  by  the 
three  who  had  heard  it,  for  Mrs.  Sessions'  benefit. 

"Mother,  did  you  see  old  Root  at  church?"  said 
Lois. 

"Indeed  I  did,  the  miserable  hypocrite!"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Sessions. 

"Oh,  don't  be  so  hard  on  him,  Mrs.  Sessions," 
pleaded  Philip.  "The  old  man  is  really  trying  to  re 
form.  I'm  very  much  interested  in  him!" 

"You're  doing  your  part  all  right,  my  son,"  said  the 
doctor,  "and  I  don't  like  to  discourage  you;  but  it's 
only  fair  to  tell  you,  as  you've  not  been  here  long 
enough  to  find  out  for  yourself,  that  the  'critter*  is 

hopeless — hopeless ! 

93 


94  THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

"He's  past  saving,  I'm  afraid.  He's  the  meanest 
man  alive,  you*  know,  and  he's  already  been  put  out 
of  the  other  three  churches  here  in  South  Wilbr'm, 
in  succession." 

"Doctor's  right  about  it,"  said  Mrs.  Sessions. 
"When  Bessie  Warren  died,  he  wouldn't  do  a  thing 
to  help  Rose,  and  wouldn't  even  let  one  of  the  hired 
men  come  down  for  the  Doctor,  for  fear  he  would  be 
doing  some  one  a  service." 

Here  Lois  broke  in  again. 

"Our  gardener,  at  college,  is  old  Root's  nephew. 
Isn't  it  a  little  world? 

"Did  you  ever  hear  about  the  time  he  lived  in  Som- 
ers?"  Lois  went  on.  "I.  mean  old  Root,  not  the  gar 
dener. 

"Why,  this  town  got  too  warm  for  him,  so  he 
thought  he'd  go  to  live  in  Somers!  He  did  all  sorts 
of  mischief  there,  and  at  first  people  didn't  really 
get  onto  him,  he  was  such  a  hypocrite;  but  there  was 
a  dear,  little  old  woman  named  Miss  Burt  who  was 
dying  of  consumption  and  had  no  one  to  take  care 
of  her.  She  had  lost  every  cent  she  had,  and  owned 
nothing  but  the  house  that  covered  her.  She  clung 
to  this  frantically,  as  her  greatest  dread  was  that  she 
might  some  day  have  to  go  to  the  'poorhouse/  Every 
one  was  sorry  for  her,  and  all  the  neighbors  used 


LOIS  BECOMES  INTERESTED  95 

to  send  her  in  food  and  fuel,  and  so  forth;  so  they 
thought  that  when  old  Root  announced  that  he  and 
his  wife  would  go  and  take  care  of  her,  it  was  just 
a  natural  bit  of  kindness.  My  father  used  to  drive 
all  the  way  over  there  to  see  her  every  day,  and 
take  milk  and  wine  and  things  that  Mother  would 
send  her. 

"Will  you  believe  it,  old  Root  and  his  wife  used 
deliberately  to  drink  and  eat  up  all  the  things  that 
were  sent  to  her,  before  her  very  eyes,  telling  her  'she 
couldn't  get  well  anyway,  so  the  sooner  she  died  the 
better.'  And  that  wasn't  the  worst.  For  beside  slowly 
starving  the  poor  soul  to  death,  they  used  to  torture 
her  by  telling  her  she  was  so  wicked,  Hell  was  yawn 
ing  for  her! 

"Poor  little  Miss  Burt,  who  never  did  one  thing  that 
wasn't  perfectly  saintly  in  her  whole  life ! 

"No  one  would  have  found  out  about  it,  if  Fa 
ther  hadn't  happened  to  overhear  them  one  time.  He 
put  a  stop  to  it  all,  right  away,  of  course;  but  Miss 
Burt  never  got  over  the  effects  of  their  cruelty,  for 
during  the  week  or  ten  days  longer  that  she  lived,  she 
used  to  lie  and  look  at  her  poor,  tiny  little  wrists,  and 
moan — 'Oh,  these  chains  are  so  heavy!  I  know  I'm 
very  wicked,  but  couldn't  I  please  have  a  little  lighter 
chains?  My  wrists  are  so  weak!'  Then  she  would 


96          THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

cry  and  beg  them  'Not  to  put  her  into  the  fire!'  It 
was  awful ! 

"Old  Root  and  his  wife  were  driven  out  of  Somers, 
and  all  the  church  bells  in  the  town  were  rung  for 
joy  as  they  vanished  up  the  road !" 

"How  horrible!"  exclaimed  Philip.  "It's  hard  to 
believe  that  any  human  being  could  do  such  a  fiendish 
thing!  I  certainly  didn't  think  Mr.  Root  could  be 
capable  of  it!  His  wife  isn't  as  bad  as  all  that,  is 
she?" 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Dr.  Sessions.  "Mrs.  Root  would  be 
all  right  if  it  wasn't  for  her  husband;  but  she's  afraid 
to  say  her  soul's  her  own,  and  so  he  claims  it. 

"Once  she  actually  got  a  divorce  from  him.  Her 
plea  was  that  he  'threw  her  against  the  wall  so  hard 
that  she  bounced  back  again  and  hit  the  opposite  wall/ 
but  somehow  or  other  he  got  her  to  marry  him  again 
in  a  few  years  and  she's  hardly  dared  breathe  since." 

The  young  minister  looked  serious. 

"This  all  sounds  very  discouraging,"  he  said,  "but 
I  refuse  to  give  up  the  Roots  altogether.  There  must 
be  some  good  in  the  old  man — the  worst  sinner  that 
ever  lived  has  something  that  makes  him  worth  re 
deeming  !" 

"That's  the  right  spirit,  my  boy.  I  only  hope  you 
won't  be  disappointed,"  and  the  Doctor  sighed  a  little; 


LOIS  BECOMES  INTERESTED  97 

for  he  too  had  once  had  his  hopes  of  letting  light  in 
on  old  Root's  darkened  soul. 

Soon  after  dinner  the  doctor  had  to  start  on  his 
rounds;  but  the  others,  at  Lois'  suggestion,  returned 
to  the  lawn  and  sat  under  the  big  maple  trees  while 
the  afternoon  wore  pleasantly  on. 

At  last  Philip  rose  to  go. 

He  had  walked  hardly  the  length  of  the  lawn,  how 
ever,  before  he  turned  and  came  back.  Remembering 
that  he  must  write  that  afternoon  his  weekly  letter 
to  his  sister,  he  was  minded  to  report  progress  in  obey 
ing  her  written  request  to  "make  Lois'  vacation  as 
pleasant  as  he  could." 

"Miss  Sessions,"  he  said,  "I  have  a  boat — couldn't 
I  take  you  out  rowing  some  day  soon?" 

"Of  course  you  may — I  adore  it!  When  do  you 
want  me?" 

"When?  Just  as  soon  as  you'll  go — would  to 
morrow  afternoon  at  two  be  too  early?" 

"No,  I  think  that  will  suit  me  perfectly." 

"Then  it's  a  bargain.    Good-by,  Miss  Sessions." 

"Good-by." 

Eden  was  once  more  half  across  the  lawn  when  he 
heard  Lois  call — 

"Oh— Mr.  Eden—" 

He  came  back,  hat  in  hand. 


98 

"I — er — have  you  a  double  set  of  oars?"  she  asked. 

"I'm  afraid  I  haven't,"  returned  the  young  man 
apologetically — "but  I  can  borrow  some." 

"Oh,  do!"  exclaimed  Lois  delightedly.  "And  we'll 
both  row!  That'll  be  splendid — will  you,  surely?" 

"If  there  are  any  oars  in  South  Wilbr'm  to  be  bor 
rowed,  you  shall  have  them!" 

Another  good-by,  and  he  was  really  gone  this  time. 

Lois  looked  at  her  mother  and  then  off  at  the  hills. 

"He  seems  pretty  nice,"  she  said  dreamily,  "when 
you  get  right  down  to  it" 


CHAPTER  VIII 

DINNER   AT   EM*S 

DINNER  at  Em  Ufford's  had  not  progressed  quite 
so  happily  as  at  the  doctor's. 

Em,  much  dissatisfied  with  the  "spell"  she  imagined 
Lois  was  trying  to  cast  over  the  minister,  had  gone 
Jiome  in  a  tantrum;  and  although  she  had  worked 
as  much  of  it  off  onto  the  unoffending  Charles  Reu 
ben  as  she  could,  she  was  still  far  from  tranquil  when 
she  bade  her  lovelorn  swain  and  his  sister  good-by 
at  her  gate. 

When  Rose  came  home  from  Sunday  School,  and 
they  all  sat  down  at  the  table,  Em  unburdened  her 
heart  in  this  manner. 

"Philip  Eden  ought  to  know  better !" 

Rose  looked  at  her  in  surprise  and  meekly  asked : 

"What  has  he  been  doing,  Aunty,  dear?  I  didn't 
know  that  you  would  ever  acknowledge  he  could  be 
anything  except  all  that's  perfect." 

"Wai !  He  ain't  perfect — no  man  is !  But  he's  bet- 
ter'n  most,  and  I  did  think  he  had  more  horse  sense 
than  to  let  himself  be  snapped  up  by  that  Lois  Ses- 

99 


IOO 

sions  without  so  much  as  an  'If  you  please.'  What 
lie  can  see  in  her,  I  don't  know — the  cat!" 

"Why,  Aunty,"  said  Rose  gently,  in  spite  of  a 
queer  sick  feeling  way  down  in  her  heart — "He's  never 
seen  her  before  to-day — aren't  you  getting  all  stirred 
up  for  nothing?" 

"No,  Rosie,  I  ain't  gettin'  stirred  up  for  nothin' !  / 
watched  'em!"  (shutting  up  her  mouth  with  a  tri 
umphant  snap  as  if  she  were  grinding  the  offenders 
to  powder).  "I  know  the  signs  and  /  saw  the  way 
she  looked  at  'im !  She  means  business — and  he's  just 
innocent  enough  to  fall  right  into  her  net!  The  best 
of  men  ain't  able  to  distinguish  between  a  girl's  laugh 
that  means  she's  happy  and  the  laugh  that  aims  to 
show  off  a  dimple!  He'll  learn  his  mistake,  too  late. 
I  prophesy  it.  She  ain't  no  ways  worthy  of  him,  an* 
I  say  it,  even  if  her  Pa  and  her  Ma  are  my  best  friends. 
'Tain't  their  fault;  they've  done  everything  for  her; 
but  she  always  was  stuck  up  and  selfish!  I  wish  I 
could  tell  him  so,  but  law!  'Twouldn't  do  a  bit  o' 
good !  Experience  is  the  thing  that  shows  up  the 
snares  set  for  young  folks — when  it's  too  late.  It's 
like  the  cold  mist  that  shows  the  spider's  web  when 
the  flies  ain't  no  longer  alive  to  be  caught. 

"She  means  to  land  him."  (Here  Em  presumably 
left  the  flies  and  reverted  to  Lois.)  "I  know  her!" 


DINNER  AT  EM'S  101 

Rose  laughed. 

"Aunty,  I  really  believe  you  want  him  yourself  I 
You're  such  a  dear,  delicious  old  goosie!  Don't  you 
know  the  man  has  a  right  to  take  a  fancy  to  Lois 
if  he  wants  to?  Why  in  the  world  shouldn't  he?" 
Another  little  laugh,  and  then,  "They  would  look  sim 
ply  stunning  together,  wouldn't  they?" 

Em  gave  her  one  good  glare.  When  she  spoke 
again,  it  was  hard  to  tell  whether  her  tone  was  one 
of  relief  or  censure. 

"Wai,  I'm  glad  you  can  take  it  so  cool,  Rose  War 
ren — maybe  you're  right  and  there  ain't  nothin'  in 
it  after  all.  Only  I  know  there  is!" 

Then  there  was  a  dead  silence  for  several  minutes, 
till  Danny  suddenly  broke  it  by  saying : 

"Mrs.  Currier  wags  her  jaw  like  this  when  she  sings 
the  Doxology:  Tra-a-aise  G-G-God  frommmm  whom 
a-a-all  bless-s-ings  f-flow' — I  saw  her !" 

"Danny!"  exclaimed  Rose.  "How  often  have  I 
told  you  that  you  mustn't  imitate  people?" 

"I  know  it,  but,  Rose,  she  did,  really!  I  wonder 
why.  Do  you  suppose  the  reason  she  has  whiskers  is 
becuz  she  'sociates  with  those  cats  so  much  ?" 

At  this  Em  and  Rose  both  laughed  in  spite  of  them 
selves,  and  then  tried  to  frown  Danny  into  silence. 

"Danny,"  said  Em,  in  a  stern  and  awful  tone  of 


102         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

voice,  turning  a  stony  blue  gaze  on  him  as  she  spoke, 
"when  a  witch  hears  a  little  boy  talking  about  her 
whiskers,  she  is  apt  to  pull  the  hairs  of  his  head  out 
— one  by  one — one  by  one — until  they  are  all  out  and 
there  is  not  one  hair  left  on  his  little  bald  head — 
and  the  hairs  never  grow  again !" 

"Oh,  Aunt  Em !"  said  Danny  in  an  awestruck  tone. 
"Is  she  really  a  witch  ?  Do  you  believe  it,  Aunt  Em  ?" 

"I  didn't  say  that,  Danny,  but  I  wouldn't  advise  you 
to  make  fun  of  her  any  more.  You'd  better  always 
be  careful  to  speak  most  respectful  of  Mis'  Currier 
after  this;  and  when  you  comb  your  hair,  do  it  gently 
for  a  few  days — in  case  she  should  have  just  loosened 
a  few  hairs,  an'  not  decided  to  pull  'em  all  the  way  out 
yet!" 

Danny  reached  a  cautious  hand  to  his  curly  hair,  and 
sat  smoothing  the  top  of  his  head  in  thoughtful  si 
lence,  as  if  to  be  sure  it  was  still  there.  Then  he 
said  ingratiatingly,  half  under  his  breath  and  looking 
hard  at  his  plate: 

"Mrs.  Currier  is  a  lovely  lady,  and  I  guess  her  sing 
ing  is  a  whole  lot  better  than  it  sounds." 

Dinner  over  and  the  dishes  washed  and  put  away, 
Em,  Rose  and  Danny  went  into  the  "best  room,"  where 
every  Sunday  afternoon  they  gathered  to  sing  a  few 
sweet  old  hymns. 


DINNER  AT  EM'S  103 

Rose  took  her  place  at  the  melodeon  as  usual,  and 
a  quaint,  homely  little  group  they  made, — the  elderly 
woman,  the  young  girl  and  the  little  boy,  all  singing 
because  they  loved  it,  because  Sunday  was  in  their 
hearts,  and  the  cares  and  bothers  of  the  world  were 
forgotten.  Em's  tones  may  have  been  somewhat 
cracked,  Danny's  a  trifle  shrill;  but,  perhaps,  for  all 
that,  the  three  voices  went  straight  up  to  Him  who 
knoweth  and  heareth  all  things,  and  He  found  in  them 
the  sweetness  of  heaven. 

To  Em,  this  quiet  Sunday  singing  meant  everything 
— it  gave  her  a  peace,  a  pathetic  joy  in  her  home,  she 
had  never  known  till  Rose  came  to  the  house  and 
brought  with  her  her  sweet  voice  and  gentle  presence. 

As  for  Danny,  music  always  subdued  him,  and 
Rose  had  taught  him  the  meaning  of  the  hymns  so 
that  he  loved  them  for  their  own  sake. 

Rose's  voice  was  not  strong,  but  it  was  appeal- 
ingly  sweet,  and  she  was  one  of  those  rare  persons 
who  sing  flawlessly  by  nature. 

Em  thought  she  had  never  heard  anything  so  lovely 
as  Rose's  voice  that  afternoon.  It  seemed  vibrant 
with  a  new  note  that  somehow  brought  the  tears  to 
Em's  eyes;  and  as  she  stood  behind  her  foster-child, 
she  stopped  singing  for  a  moment  and  unconsciously 
breathed  a  prayer  which,  put  into  words,  would  have 


104         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

been — "Oh,  God,  don't  ever  let  her  be  hurt  or  dis 
appointed  !" 

After  this  she  felt  relieved,  and  quickly  taking  up 
the  hymn,  went  on  to  the  end  with  renewed  vigor 
and  confidence. 

That  evening,  the  Union  Meeting  was  at  the  brown 
Methodist  Church,  and  all  three  flocks  were  united 
under  one  roof. 

Em  and  Rose  went,  as  a  matter  of  course,  after 
having  tucked  Danny  safely  in  his  little  bed. 

The  night  was  lovely,  and  Philip  walked  home  with 
them  as  usual.  Rose  chattered  merrily  to  both  Em 
and  Philip,  while  Em,  seeing  Rose  so  lively,  decided 
that  she  had  been  mistaken  about  Lois.  The  young 
minister  was  too  fond  of  Rose,  evidently,  to  be  "taken 
in"  by  any  designing  girl,  no  matter  how  clever  and 
handsome  she  might  be. 

"Maybe  I'm  an  old  fool,  after  all,"  Em  reasoned 
to  herself.  "Perhaps  there  ain't  anything  in  it  that 
Rose  need  trouble  about!" 


CHAPTER  IX 

LOIS    WRITES   A   LETTER 

WHEN  Lois  Sessions  woke  on  Monday  morning1, 
she  found,  to  her  great  disgust,  that  it  was  raining 
in  a  steady,  determined  downpour  that  seemed  to 
say  all  too  plainly,  "No  rowing  on  the  river  to-day!" 
The  girl  gave  her  pillow  a  punch,  turned  over  in 
bed,  and  tried  to  sleep  a  little  longer.  What  was  the 
use  of  getting  up,  she  reasoned,  if  one  must  be  shut  in 
a  pokey  old  house  all  day? 

Sleep  would  not  come  to  her,  so  she  lay  still  think 
ing — a  good  deal  about  Philip  Eden  and  a  good  deal 
more  about  herself. 

At  nine  o'clock,  Mrs.  Sessions  tiptoed  softly  up 
stairs. 

"Why,  you're  awake  already,  Baby!"  she  exclaimed, 
as  she  reached  the  open  door. 

"Isn't  this  just  perfectly  rotten  luck!"  was  Lois' 
greeting.  "There  was  no  particular  sense  in  getting 
up  early,  so  I  just  stayed  where  I  was.  I  hate  a  rainy 
day,"  she  burst  out,  "and  I  was  going  on  the  river 
with  Mr.  Eden  and  everything !" 

105 


io6        THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

"Maybe  it'll  be  clear  by  this  afternoon,  darling," 
Mrs.  Sessions  suggested,  as  though  apologizing  for 
any  share  she  might  have  in  the  weather. 

"Oh,  no,  it  won't!"  cried  Lois.  "Not  such  a  rain 
as  this !  It's  in  for  an  all-day  downpour."  Her  eyes 
grew  troubled :  "I  had  something  especial  that  I  wanted 
to  say  to  the  minister  to-day — and  I  hate  to  give  up 
a  plan,  once  I've  made  it." 

"I  know  you  do,  dear,"  answered  her  mother  calmly, 
"you  always  did.  But  we  all  have  to  give  up  to  Provi 
dence,  once  in  a  while,  and  you  can  go  to-morrow  just 
as  well.  Now  try  to  forget  about  it,  and  just  be 
comfy!  I'm  going  to  bring  your  breakfast  up  to  you 
so  you  can,  lie  there  and  get  a  good  rest.  Rest  all 
the  morning  if  you  like.  I'm  sure  you  need  a  little 
relaxation  after  studying  so  hard  all  these  months — 
it'll  be  the  best  thing  in  the  world!" 

"All  right,"  agreed  Lois,  not  very  graciously,  put 
ting  up  her  cheek  mechanically  to  be  kissed.  "I  can 
write  letters  anyhow,  and  get  through  the  morning 
that  way !" 

After  Mrs.  Sessions  had  trudged  upstairs  with  Lois' 
breakfast  tray,  and  had  watched  her  with  loving  eyes 
as  she  ate,  she  brought  the  girl  her  writing  materials, 
and,  taking  away  the  empty  tray,  trudged  down  again 
to  a  busy  morning  of  work. 


LOIS  WRITES  A  LETTER  107 

Lois,  in  a  frilly,  dainty  pale  blue  breakfast  jacket 
(such  as  her  mother  could  never  afford  to  wear)  lay 
back  among  her  pillows  and  gazed  out  of  the  win 
dow  at  the  tossing  trees,  her  beautiful  forehead  shirred 
into  a  discontented  little  bunch.  In  her  eyes  was  a 
look  not  only  of  discontent,  but  of  serious  worry. 

At  last  she  took  up  her  pen. 

"Dear  Mr.  Eden,"  she  wrote.  "You  are  probably  a 
better  Christian  than  I  am — either  that,  or  you  don't 
hate  rain  the  way  I  do!  Anyhow,  I'm  glad  you 
couldn'klook  into  my  heart  this  morning  when  I  woke 
and  heard  it  pouring!  If  you  could,  you'd  find  it 
blacker  than  old  Root's  heart,  I'm  afraid. 

"Seriously,  I'm  terribly  disappointed.  Not  about 
the  row,  for  of  course  we  can  go  up  the  river  to 
morrow  or  next  day,  if  you  like;  but  I  wanted  espe 
cially  to  see  you  to-day.  There  is  something  I  must 
talk  to  you  about — something  I  cannot  tell  any  one 
but  just  you.  I  know  that  sounds  queer;  but  I  really 
felt  as  if  I  knew  you  well,  before  I  ever  met  you, — 
dear  Miss  Eden  has  tofd  me  such  a  lot  about  you — 
and  just  as  soon  as  I  got  one  good  look  at  you,  in 
church  yesterday,  I  knew  I  could  trust  you  absolutely 
— and  I'm  going  to. 

"I'm  in  perfectly  terrible  trouble — and  there  is  no 
one  in  the  world  but  you  who  can  help  me  out.  I 
know  you'll  probably  think  I've  gone  crazy,  Mr. 
Eden;  but — I  only  wish  I  had!  Please  regard  this 


io8 

letter  as  absolutely  confidential — Mother  and  Father 
know  nothing  at  all  of  what  I  am  writing — and  I  hope 
and  pray  they  may  never  have  to  know.  That  is  why 
I  appeal  to  you,  as  a  man  and  a  Christian  and  a 
clergyman,  for  help.  I  must  see  you — and  I  cannot 
wait  till  it  stops  raining — so  won't  you  come  over, 
this  afternoon?  Mother  is  going  out,  no  matter  how 
it  rains — to  read  to  blind  Mrs.  Howlitt — and  Father 
is  never  in  in  the  afternoon;  so  we'll  have  the  house 
to  ourselves.  I  am  going  to  send  this  by  Jenny,  and 
she  will  wait  for  an  answer.  Please  don't  think  me 
melodramatic,  Mr.  Eden — you  won't,  when  you  know 
all  about  it.  As  I  said  before,  there  is  no  one  else 
to  whom  I  can  turn. 

"Very  sincerely  yours, 

"Lois  SESSIONS." 

After  the  letter  was  written,  Lois,  her  cheeks  burn 
ing  feverishly,  got  up  and  dressed.  Hurrying  down 
stairs,  she  found  Jenny. 

"Take  this  note  to  Mr.  Eden  at  once,  Jenny,"  she 
said.  "It's  important,  so  I  know  Mrs.  Sessions  won't 
mind  your  leaving  your  work  long  enough  to  run  to 
the  parsonage  and  back — and  I  wish  you  to  wait  for  an 
answer,"  she  added  sharply. 

"All  right,  ma'am,"  said  Jenny.  "Do  I  go,  Mis'  Ses 
sions?"  she  asked,  turning  to  her  mistress. 

As  she  often  said  in  secret  to  her  cronies,  she  did 


LOIS  WRITES  A  LETTER  109 

not  "intend  to  be  bossed  by  that  high-toned  Lois," 
she  was  "workin'  for  Mis'  Sessions  an'  the  Doctor!" 

"Yes,  yes,  run  along,  Jenny,  anywhere  Miss  Lois 
wishes  you  to  go,  but  don't  forget  your  rubbers," 
Mrs.  Sessions  answered,  rather  crisply;  for  Jenny's 
attitude  toward  Lois  did  not  escape  her.  Yet  she  knew 
it  was  Lois'  fault. 

After  the  little  maid  had  gone  out  of  the  door,  Mrs. 
Sessions  turned  to  her  daughter  and  put  a  hand  on 
her  arm. 

"Do  try  to  be  a  little  more  courteous  to  Jenny,  dear, 
— you  only  make  her  unwilling  to  do  things  for  you 
when  you  order  her  about  so !" 

"Good  heavens,  Mother !  You  make  me  tired !  She 
gets  good  wages,  doesn't  she?  Why  shouldn't  I  'order 
her  about'  ?  She  does  little  enough,  as  it  is.  And  you 
and  Father  just  about  spoil  her,  letting  her  take  the 
kitten  up  to  bed  with  her  and  all.  That  isn't  the 
way  to  treat  servants!" 

"I've  kept  house  for  a  great  many  years,  daugh 
ter,"  said  Mrs.  Sessions,  "and  if  I  don't  know  how 
to  manage  my  little  servant  now,  I  never  shall.  Jenny 
is  country  bred,  and  this  is  all  the  real  home  she  has 
ever  known.  She  is  living  her  life  year  by  year  just 
as  we  all  are.  A  little  courtesy  helps  her  as  much 
as  it  helps  the  rest  of  us.  Why  shouldn't  she  take 


no         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

the  kitten  upstairs?  That's  the  sort  of  thing  that 
makes  it  home  to  her — don't  you  see?  She  has  a 
right  to  pets,  like  any  one  else!" 

"Well,  she  imposes  on  you  both,  fearfully — and 
she's  not  going  to  impose  on  me,"  was  Lois'  retort. 

Mrs.  Sessions  made  no  reply  and  Lois  wandered 
into  the  parlor  and  began  to  play  the  piano  while 
she  waited  for  the  minister's  answer.  Her  skillful 
fingers  roved  aimlessly  over  the  keys  like  sheep  with 
out  a  shepherd;  for  Lois'  mind  was  not  on  the  bit 
of  Moszkowski  she  was  playing — she  was  simply  kill 
ing  time. 

Presently  Jenny  came  back,  having,  apparently,  run 
all  the  way. 

"Here's  the  answer,"  she  panted,  putting  a  note  into 
Lois'  hand  and  then  hurrying  out  of  the  room  as  if 
she  feared  that  the  girl  might  send  her  on  another 
mission. 

But  Lois  was  not  even  aware  of  her  existence,  just 
then;  for  the  minister's  note  said: 

"DEAR  Miss  SESSIONS  : 

"Of  course  I'll  come!  If  I  can  be  of  any  earthly 
use  to  you,  you  know  I  will — my  love  for  your  fa 
ther  and  mother  would  insure  that  much,  even  if  I  had 
not  met  you.  Naturally  I  shall  regard  your  confidence 
as  sacred.  I'm  awfully  sorry  anything  is  troubling 


LOIS  WRITES  A  LETTER  in 

you;  but  perhaps  things  are  not  so  bad  as  you  think 
— they  generally  aren't.  Anyhow,  we'll  find  a  way 
out  somehow,  so  don't  worry  any  more.  Thank  you 
for  coming  to  me  about  it.  I'll  be  over  at  half  after 
two,  as  that  is  about  the  time  we  expected  to  go  row 
ing.  Now  be  a  good  girl  and  don't  worry — until  I 
get  there  anyway ! 

"Faithfully  yours, 

"PHILIP  EDEN." 

Yet,  as  half  after  two  struck,  and  the  minister's 
broad  shoulders  appeared  below  an  umbrella  at  the 
end  of  the  Sessions'  walk,  Lois  was  decidedly  nerv 
ous.  Her  heart  seemed  to  be  playing  leap-frog  in  her 
throat;  and  to  her  disgust  she  saw  that  her  fingers 
were  trembling  a  little. 

"This'll  never  do,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  opened 
the  front  door  and  held  out  a  welcoming  hand  to 
Philip  Eden. 

•  •••••• 

That  same  afternoon,  Em  sent  Danny  down  to  the 
parsonage  for  a  book  the  minister  had  offered  to  lend 
her.  Em's  thirst  for  knowledge  of  all  sorts  was  never 
slaked.  Just  now  she  was  especially  interested  in 
Syria.  Bible  history  had  always  held  a  fascination 
for  her — (she  was  more  familiar  with  it  than  are 
many  clergymen)  and  Our  Lord's  journeyings  through 


ii2         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

the  Holy  Land  were  as  vivid  to  Em  as  the  itinerary 
of  a  presidential  candidate  to  his  campaign  manager. 

"You  ask  Mr.  Eden  if  he's  usin'  that  book  he  prom 
ised  me,"  she  said;  "and  if  he  ain't,  tell  him  I'd  be 
awful  glad  to  have  it  to  read  while  my  bread's  risin'. 
An'  you  come  right  straight  back,"  she  warned. 
"Don't  you  go  near  the  store,  for  you've  had  all  the 
candy  that's  good  for  you  to-day !" 

But  Danny  returned  without  the  book. 

"I  couldn't  get  it,  'cause  he  was  out,"  the  little  boy 
explained.  "Th'  housekeeper  said  he  got  a  note  from 
Doctor's  daughter  and  he  had  to  go  over  to  see  her 
right  after  he  had  his  lunch.  She  said  she  was  awful 
sorry,  but  she  didn't  know  where  the  book  was,  and 
she  didn't  dare  muss  up  his  things  to  look  for  it. 
Anyway  he  had  a  lot  of  books  about  Syria  and  she 
might  get  the  wrong  one, — so  I  thought  as  she  wasn't 
very  'telligent  I'd  better  go  down  again  in  a  half  an 
hour.  Don't  you  think  that's  a  good  idea,  Aunty?" 

"It's  a  grand  idea,  Danny,"  said  Em,  her  mind  com 
pletely  off  the  book  and  on  Lois'  note.  "What's  Lois 
a-writin'  notes  to  the  minister  for,  anyhow?"  she  in 
quired  aloud  of  the  world  at  large. 

"Th'  housekeeper  didn't  know,"  answered  Danny, 
evidently  thinking  the  question  was  meant  for  him. 
"But  she  said  she  guessed  it  must  of  bin  something 


LOIS  WRITES  A  LETTER  113 

awful  important,  for  he  was  goin'  to  go  over  the  bills 
an'  things  with  her  this  afternoon  an'  besides,  he  had 
promised  to  let  her  shift  the  furniture  in  his  study, 
with  him  looking  on  so  she  wouldn't  lose  anything 
or  throw  away  anything  he  wanted  to  keep.  She  says 
he'll  probably  be  back  in  a  little  while,  'cause  'he  always 
does  what  he  agrees  to  do/  she  says." 

"All  right — you're  a  good  boy,"  said  Em  absently. 
"You  can  run  down  again  in  about  an  hour,  if  you 
want  to — he  ought  to  be  home  by  that  time."  And 
with  a  puckered  forehead  Em  went  back  to  her  work. 

"He's  over  at  Doctor's  yet/'  Danny's  high  treble 
announced,  cheerfully,  an  hour  and  a  half  later,  as  the 
boy  came  into  Em's  kitchen  after  his  second  attempt 
at  a  Syrian  invasion. 

"Not  back,  yet?"  shrilled  Em  "Ain't  he  got  any- 
thin'  better  to  do  than  spend  a  God-given,  work- 
inspirin',  rainy  day  like  this  a-talkin'  to  Lois  Sessions? 
Land  sakes — "  and  Em's  tirade  stopped  in  a  disgusted 
snort  as  Rose  came  into  the  room. 

"What's  the  matter,  Aunty?  What's  Danny  been 
up  to  now?"  inquired  the  girl. 

"Oh,  that  blessed  baby  ain't  bin  up  to  anythin',  ex 
cept  to  help  his  old  Aunty,  I  wish  some  grown  folks 
had  his  sense,  that's  all!  There's  Lois  Sessions 
a-writin'  notes  to  the  minister  an'  coaxin'  him  over  to 


H4         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

see  her  an'  everything,  an'  he's  so  blind  she'll  land  him 

in  her  net  before  he  so  much  as  knows  she's  out 

fishin' !" 

"What  do  you  mean — 'writing  notes'  ?"  asked  Rose, 

mystified. 

"Just  what  I  say — writin'  notes!    In — " 

"Aunt  Em,"  burst  in  Danny,  "what  do  you  s'pose  ? 

I  hopped — " 

"Don't  interrupt  Aunty,  Danny,"  said  Rose.  "I'm 
surprised  at  you!" 

"I  was  just  goin'  to  say,"  Em  went  on,  "that  in  my 
day,  it  was  the  men  wrote  the  notes  an'  did  the  courtin', 
not  the  girls!  If  Philip  Eden  is  such  a  goose  as  to 
follow  her  lead,  don't  you  take  up  with  him,  Rosie — 
that's  all  I've  got  to  say!" 

"Aunty!  I  never  knew  you  to  go  on  so!"  cried 
Rose  as  she  filled  the  watering  pot  at  the  kitchen  sink 
and  went  into  the  dining-room  to  water  the  window- 
box  flowers.  She  was  more  nearly  angry  with  Em 
than  ever  she  had  thought  she  could  be.  As  she  left 
the  room  Danny  at  last  got  his  chance. 

"Aunt  Em,"  he  began,  "what  do  you  think  ?  I  hop- 
hop-hopped  on  one  leg,  all  the  way  down  the  hill !  If 
I  should  ever  lose  one  leg,  I  think  I  could  get  on  pretty 
well,  with  just  the  other,  with  a  little  practice  I 
only  had  to  stop  twice !  I'll  go  down  to  the  minister's 


LOIS  WRITES  A  LETTER  115 

again,  after  a  while,  if  you'll  watch  me  hop  down 
the  hill.  Will  you?" 

But  Em  was  not  listening. 

It  looked  as  if  the  little  boy's  third  journey  was 
to  be  as  unsuccessful  as  the  other  two;  but  just  as 
he  was  leaving  the  parsonage,  Philip  appeared. 

"He  looked  awful  queer,"  Danny  reported  faith 
fully  to  Em  and  Rose;  "his  face  was  all  solemn — an' 
awful  white.  He  didn't  say,  'Hello,  ole  man,'  to  me, 
the  way  he  genally  does;  he  didn't  hardly  seem  to 
know  I  was  there  for  a  minute;  then  he  smiled  at  me, 
so  I  knew  he  wasn't  mad  at  me  or  anythin'.  And  he 
said: 

"  'Oh,  yes— the  book—' 

"An'  he  went  an'  got  it,  and  here  'tis!  Did  you 
watch  me  hop  all  the  way  down  ?  I  couldn't  look  back 
much,  for  fear  I'd  touch  my  other  leg  to  the  ground, 
you  know!" 

"Yes,  yes,  Danny,  you  hopped  so  fine  I  wasn't  sure 
but  what  'twas  a  crane  a-standin'  on  one  leg,  till  I 
put  on  my  glasses.  You're  a  good  little  boy  to  bring 
me  the  book.  Aunty's  got  a  kiss  for  you !" 

Danny  clasped  Em  about  the  neck  in  a  strangling 
hug,  from  which  she  emerged  a  moment  later,  red- 
faced  but  loving. 

"Now  g'long,"  she  said,  "for  I'm  busy  just  now — 


u6         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

and  if  you  must  hop,  hop  somewheres  else  besides  on 
my  kitchen  floor !  The  plastering'll  all  be  down,  before 
you  know  it,  if  you  shake  the  room  so.  If  you  don't 
get  through  with  this  hoppin'  fever  pretty  soon,  I 
shall  wish  Easter  vacation  was  over!" 

All  that  evening,  Em  seemed  unable  to  talk  about 
anything  but  "the  web"  Lois  Sessions  was  "winding 
about  the  minister."  Rose,  who  realized  the  abso 
lute  absurdity  of  Em's  prejudices,  finally  stopped  the 
harangue  by  saying  firmly: 

"Aunty,  dear — I  know  you  mean  all  right;  but  you 
mustn't  say  any  more  about  Mr.  Eden  in  that  way. 
He  is  my  friend;  and  I  don't  like  to  hear  it.  You 
know,  a  clergyman  has  to  go,  if  people  send  for  him. 
He  is  only  doing  his  duty,  and  it  wouldn't  be  right 
for  him  not  to  go  to  any  one  who  wants  to  see  him. 
You  know  he'd  go  just  the  same  if  it  were  old  Root, 
or  Mrs.  Currier — " 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Em  under  her  breath,  "but  he 
wouldn't  stay  so  long — " 

"Or  Mrs.  Currier,"  repeated  Rose.  Then  she 
smiled.  "You  are  a  very  silly,  dear,  annoying  person," 
she  went  on,  gently,  and  I'm  going  to  bed  to  get 
away  from  you!  You'll  never  get  your  'Syria'  read, 
unless  you  stop  scolding. 

"By  the  way,"  she  said,  looking  back,  saucily,  as 


LOIS  WRITES  A  LETTER  117 

she  left  the  room,  "you  will  be  comforted  to  know 
that  Philip  and  I  are  going  on  a  three-mile  walk  over 
to  'Bennet's  View'  to-morrow  afternoon!  Now  will 
you  be  good?" 


CHAPTER  X 

EM   TAKES   FATE  INTO   HER  OWN    HANDS 

THE  next  day  turned  out  to  be  brilliantly  fine;  and 
Rose  hummed  a  happy  tune  as  she  moved  about  her 
quaint  old-fashioned  room,  getting  ready  for  her  three- 
mile  walk  with  Philip. 

She  laced  up  her  stout  little  walking  boots  with  a 
business-like  snap  and  abandon;  and  waltzed  over  to 
her  clothes  closet  where,  on  a  shelf,  reposed  the  band 
box  holding  her  most  becoming  hat.  She  prinked 
quite  proudly  and  outrageously  in  front  of  her  large 
oval  mirror,  when  she  put  the  hat  on;  then  looked 
rather  curiously  at  her  reflection,  wondering,  after  all, 
how  Philip  could  find  her  pretty.  Having  no  natural 
vanity  whatever,  she  saw  nothing  attractive  in  the 
friendly  little  face  that  looked  out  at  her;  but  the  fact 
that  so  wonderful  a  person  as  Philip  found  her  good 
to  look  upon,  made  her  very  triumphant  and  happy 
indeed.  Snatching  up  her  gloves,  she  ran  downstairs. 
It  was  almost  time  for  Philip  to  appear,  and  not  for 
worlds  would  she  keep  him  waiting  a  moment. 

The    appointed    hour    came — and    went, — but    no 
118 


EM  TAKES  FATE  INTO  HER  HANDS     119 

Philip.  Still  Rose  sat  ready,  and  looking  out  of  the 
parlor  window  down  the  hill  toward  the  village. 

"Wai!"  suddenly  came  Em's  astonished  voice  from 
the  hall.  "Thought  you  was  gone  long  ago!"  Then 
she  added  worriedly,  "Ain't  he  come?" 

"He'll  be  here  soon,  I  guess,"  Rose  answered,  "some 
thing  must  have  come  up  at  the  last  minute." 

"Wai,  I — "  But  Em  decided  not  to  finish  her 
sentence. 

After  a  while,  Rose,  fearing  Em  would  come  back 
and  say  something  about  Lois  "settin'  her  cap  at  him" 
went  out  and  sat  on  the  top  step  of  the  porch. 

Here,  nearly  an  hour  later,  Charles  Reuben  found 
her,  when  he  hurried  up  the  walk  with  many  apologies, 
and  handed  her  a  note. 

"I'm  jest  as  sorry's  I  can  be,  Rose,"  he  began.  "Mr. 
Eden  come  out  of  his  house  as  I  was  goin'  by  and 
asked  me,  if  I  was  comin'  right  home,  would  I  please 
hand  you  this  note  in  passin'.  I  ought  to  of  bin  here 
an  hour  ago ;  but  I  met  Deacon  Cone  an'  Alonzo  Day 
an'  we  got  to  arguin'  about  Town  Meetin'  Election,  an' 
before  I  knew  it  the  minutes  had  flown  by: 

"Time  will  fly, — 
While  you  and  also  I 
Sit  and  wait,  or  argufy — 
And  sigh! 

Signed,  Bard  of  New  England. 


120        THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

"Wai,  here's  the  letter — better  late  than  never." 
(With  a  roguish  smile)  "Er — is  Miss  Ufford  tolerable 
well?" 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed — very  well,"  said  Rose  cordially, 
albeit  longing  to  rush  off  upstairs  and  read  her  letter. 
"Shall  I  call  her?" 

"No-no,"  hesitated  Charles  Reuben.  "I'm  afeared 
she  wouldn't  let  me  come  in,  'cause  it  ain't  Saturday. 
That's  the  only  day  she  wants  me  to  call.  You  know 
she's  strict  about  such  things.  I'm  sorry  I  was  so  late 
with  the  letter,"  he  added  wistfully. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  Charles  Reuben,"  Rose  an 
swered.  "Don't  give  it  a  thought.  It  doesn't  make  a 
bit  of  difference,  as  long  as  I  have  it  now!" 

Once  safe  alone  in  her  room,  Rose  opened  her  letter. 
She  did  not  "tear  it  open,"  as  a  real  heroine  would 
have  done.  Instead,  she  cut  the  envelope  cleanly  across 
with  her  shining  little  scissors;  for  it  was  the  first 
letter  Philip  had  written  her;  and,  whatever  it  might 
contain,  it  was  very  precious. 

"Dear  little  Rose,"  it  began. 

"Something  unexpected  has  just  come  up  which 
makes  it  absolutely  impossible  for  me  to  keep  our  en 
gagement  this  afternoon.  I  cannot  tell  you  what  it  is, 
for  if  I  did  that  I  should  betray  some  one  else's  confi 
dence;  but  I  know  you  want  me  to  do  what  seems 


EM  TAKES  FATE  INTO  HER  HANDS     121 

best,  even  if  I  doom  myself — and  I  hope  you,  too — to 
disappointment.  The  knowledge  that  I  can  count  on 
you  to  understand,  is  worth  everything  in  the  world. 
And  we'll  have  that  walk,  don't  you  fear!  Are  your 
eyes  looking  very  pretty,  as  you  read  this?  And  are 
the  little  wisps  of  hair  crinkling  around  your  forehead  ? 
I  know  they  are,  and  I  wish  with  all  my  heart  that  I 
were  there  to  see  them! 
"  'Ever  the  best  of  friends,' 

"PHILIP." 

Of  course,  Rose,  according  to  the  accepted  ways  of 
heroines,  should  have  torn  up  the  note  indignantly, 
and  thrown  it  into  the  waste-basket.  And  she  .should 
have  resolved  to  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  a  suitor 
who  would  break  an  engagement  and  not  tell  her  why. 
That  is  what  she  might  have  done,  had  she  been  think 
ing  at  all  of  herself,  (as  the  spirited  heroine  of  fiction 
seems  rather  prone  to  do)  but,  having  given  her  heart 
entirely  into  Philip's  keeping,  Rose's  thought  was  only 
of  him. 

In  the  midst  of  her  deep  disappointment  it  never 
occurred  to  her  to  doubt  that  he  would  have  come  if 
he  could.  She  even  kissed  the  place  where  Philip  had 
written  "Ever  the  best  of  friends." 

The  hardest  part  of  her  problem  was  the  explanation 
to  Em,  and  here  Rose  showed  no  lack  of  spirit. 

Em  went  for  the  mail,  that  night,  and  as  usual 


122         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

wandered  over  to  the  doctor's  to  wait,  as  soon  as  she 
found  that  the  stage  was  not  yet  in.  Phoebe  Bliss  and 
the  Deacon  were  already  there,  and  the  doctor  drove 
into  the  yard  a  moment  later. 

"Where's  Lois?"  was  his  first  question  after  greet 
ing  Lois'  mother. 

"She  went  upstairs  to  lie  down  for  a  while  before 
supper,"  answered  Mrs.  Sessions.  "Mr.  Eden  was 
here  with  her  most  of  the  afternoon,"  she  added  a 
bit  self-consciously,  "and  after  he  went  she  said  she 
was  a  little  tired  and  was  going  to  get  some  rest." 

At  Delia's  harmless  and  innocent  pride  in  the  length 
of  the  minister's  call,  Em's  face  turned  quite  purple, 
and  her  blue  eyes  snapped;  but  she  said  nothing. 

As  the  friendly,  neighborly  talk  went  on  around  her, 
Em's  silence  became  noticeable. 

"Lost  your  tongue,  Em?"  teased  Deacon  Cone  in 
his  pleasantly  nasal  voice.  "I  never  knew  you  to  be 
silent  before  for  ten  minutes  at  a  time,  in  all  the  years 
since  we  went  to  school  together.  'A  penny  for  your 
thoughts/  "  he  added,  with  his  genial  smile. 

"Some  thoughts  is  like  bombs — all  right,  so  long  as 
some  one  don't  touch  'em  off!"  Em  answered  shortly. 
"I  should  hate  to  have  you  be  the  person  to  touch  off 
mine,  just  now ! 

"There's  the  rumble  of  the  stage,"  she  broke  off 


! 


EM  TAKES  FATE  INTO  HER  HANDS     123 

suddenly.  "I'm  a-goin'!  Good-by,  folks!"  and  with 
head  up,  and  nut-cracker  chin  straight  out,  she  marched 
away  in  the  direction  of  the  Post  Office. 

"How  funny  of  Em  to  start  off  like  that,  without 
waiting  for  the  rest  of  us,"  said  Phoebe  Bliss.  "The 
mail  won't  be  ready !  Why,  she'll  get  there  almost  as 
soon  as  the  stage  does,  if  she  keeps  on  walking  at  that 
rate!" 

But  Em  preferred  to  be  by  herself.  That  Philip 
Eden  should  break  an  engagement  with  Rose  in  order 
to  spend  the  afternoon  with  Lois  Sessions  seemed  to 
her  not  only  incomprehensible,  but  absolute  proof  of 
his  perfidy.  He  was  a  trifler,  she  decided.  He  had 
been  playing  with  Rose's  tender  little  heart.  Em's 
cheeks  flamed  with  indignation. 

She  was  the  first  person  at  the  delivery  window, 
and  the  first  to  leave  the  store. 

Entering  her  house,  by  the  kitchen,  she  found  Rose 
getting  supper. 

"Nothin'  but  the  Union  an'  the  Weekly  Tribune, 
to-night,"  she  announced,  as  she  turned  to  shut  the 
door. 

The  vigorous  slam,  as  well  as  Em's  red  face,  told 
Rose  that  there  were  breakers  ahead,  and  her  own 
color  heightened,  though  she  drew  out  the  pan  of  hot 
biscuit  from  the  oven  with  a  steady,  quiet  little  hand. 


124         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

Em  hung  up  her  bonnet  in  the  entry,  put  on  a  blue 
checked  apron,  and  then  went  methodically  about  the 
business  of  supper. 

"I  wish  to  goodness  Mis'  Currier  wouldn't  let  her 
bees  rove  all  over  the  buckwheat,"  Em  exploded,  as 
she  came  in  from  the  buttery  with  a  box  of  fresh 
honey.  "She  don't  seem  to  have  no  control  over  'em ! 
Clover  honey's  worth  ten  of  buckwheat.  The  bees 
think  so,  too,  I  guess,  for  they  always  take  more  pains 
in  the  making  of  it,  I  notice!  I'm  always  tellin'  Mis' 
Currier  I'll  pay  twice  as  much  for  clover — but  she 
can't  seem  to  remember — Rosie !"  Em  interrupted  her 
self,  coming  to  a  halt  midway  between  kitchen  and 
dining-room.  "You  won't  like  what  I'm  a-goin'  to 
say — but  I've  got  to  say  it,  'cause  it's  my  duty — I 
should  say  it  just  the  same  if  I  was  to  be  hung  for  it 
to-morrow!  If  the  minister  comes  here  a-runnin' 
after  you — don't  you  see  'im!"  And  Em's  mouth 
sprung  shut  like  a  trap. 

"Aunt  Em !"  exclaimed  Rose.  "Of  course  I  shall  see 
him!  Why  shouldn't  I?" 

"  'Cause — I  ask  you  not  to !  You've  been  deceived 
in  'im!  I'm  sure  of  it!  Don't  you  allow  a  man  to 
play  fast  an'  loose  with  you,  like  that!" 

"Aunty— I—" 

,     "Fast  an'  loose  is  what  I  said — he  couldn't  go  walkin' 
* 

\ 


EM  TAKES  FATE  INTO  HER  HANDS     125 

with  you  this  afternoon — but  he  could  an'  did  spend 
the  time  danglin'  after  Lois  Sessions — Delia  said  so! 
Now — I  don't  propose  to  have  you  play  second  fiddle 
to  Lois  or  any  one  else.  I  ain't  sure  there's  any  man 
good  enough  for  you — an'  certainly  the  one  that  tries 
to  play  with  two  strings  to  his  bow  ain't!  I'm  more 
disappointed  in  Philip  Eden  than  I  can  tell  of — but 
most  men  is  alike,  after  all — whifflin',  triflin',  con 
ceited  an' — " 

"Aunty !  I  won't  listen  to  any  more  such  nonsense !" 
cried  Rose  indignantly ;  and  golden  sparks  flashed  from 
her  soft  brown  eyes.  "If  you  feel  that  way  toward 
Philip,  please  don't  talk  to  me  about  it!" 

"It's  only  because  I  love  you,  Rosie,"  Em  moaned 
contritely.  "Won't  you  promise  not  to  see  him  the 
next  time  he  calls  ? — just  to  please  me?  Perhaps  that'll 
bring  him  to  time!  Men  don't  want  what  they  can 
get  too  easy!" 

"I  don't  wish  to  'bring  him  to  time/  as  you-  say," 
answered  Rose.  "If  he  comes,  I  shall  see  him,  just 
as  I  always  have — just  as  I  see  any  of  the  boys  that 
call!" 

"Wai,  if  you  won't  do  as  I  say,  you  won't,  I  s'pose! 
I  never  knew  you  to  be  so  self-willed,  Rosie!  I'm 
older'n  what  you  are,  and,  I  tell  you  you're  makin'  a 
mistake!  It's  the  apple  that's  out  of  reach  that's  al- 


'126         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

ways  got  the  finest  flavor.  Philip  Eden  thinks  you're 
ready  to  drop  into  his  mouth,  whenever  he  wants  you, 
so  he's  reachin'  out  in  another  direc — " 

But  Em  was  talking  to  an  empty  kitchen. 

Twice,  during  the  next  few  days,  Philip  climbed  the 
hill  to  see  Rose.  The  first  time,  the  girl  and  Em  were 
in  Springfield  for  the  day,  so  they  never  knew  he  had 
called.  The  second  time  he  was  even  more  unlucky; 
for  Rose  had  gone  "over  East"  to  attend  to  some  mat 
ters  at  her  old  farm,  and  Em  opened  the  door  to  him. 
At  least,  she  opened  the  door  not  knowing  who  had 
rung  the  bell.  When  she  saw  the  sunny  gray  eyes  of 
Philip  Eden  looking  down  into  her  face,  her  own  eyes 
seemed  fairly  to  pop  out  and  hit  him.  Involuntarily 
he  drew  back  a  little. 

"Oh!"  snapped  Em. 

"Oh!"  he  answered,  smiling,  and  waited  for  Em  to 
ask  him  in.  But  the  spinster's  knuckles  tightened  on  the 
door  knob  and  she  pushed  the  door  to  until  there  was 
left  but  an  inhospitable  foot  or  so  of  space,  far  too 
little  to  admit  the  brawny  frame  of  the  minister. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  let  me  in,  Miss  Ufford?"  he 
asked.  "Can't  I  come  in  and  see  you  and  Miss  Rose 
for  a  little  while?" 

"No,  Mr.  Eden,  I'm  sorry — very  sorry,"  said  Em 
firmly,  "but  you  can't  come  in.  Rosie  doesn't  care  to 


EM  TAKES  FATE  INTO  HER  HANDS     127 

see  you  to-day."  Em's  heart  beat  fast  at  this  fib,  for 
she  was  truthful.  The  fib  hurt  her  even  though  she 
lied  with  the  best  intentions.  Her  face  turned  mul 
berry  color;  but,  clearing  her  throat,  she  went  on  "I 
guess  we  don't  need  no  more  Pastoral  Visits  at  this 
house — we  got  along  without  'em  pretty  well,  before 
you  come  to  South  Wilbr'm,  an'  I  guess  we  can  now — 
we  ain't  any  wickeder'n  what  we  was.  So,  if  it's  all 
the  same  to  you,  I'll  bid  you  good — " 

"Wait — wait,"  cried  Philip  in  blank  amazement. 
"What  on  earth  have  I  done?  Why  won't  Rose  see 
me  ?"  As  he  spoke  he  inserted  his  toe  in  the  fast  clos 
ing  doorway. 

Em,  frightened  at  what  she  had  started,  stuck 
bravely  to  her  guns. 

"She  didn't  ask  me  to  make  any  explanations,"  was 
her  most  truthful  rejoinder.  "She  just  ain't  at  home 
to  you  any  more.  Ain't  that  plain  as  the  nose  on  your 
face,  Mr.  Eden?" 

"Quite,"  said  Philip  shortly.  Then,  with  eyes  full 
of  trouble,  he  burst  out  boyishly : 

"Listen,  Miss  Em!  You've  always  been  a  good 
friend  of  mine — what's  it  all  about?  Won't  you  tell 
me,  please?" 

"You'd  ought  to  know;  better'n  I  do,"  said  Em, 
mysteriously.  "Maybe  you've  done  somethin'  she 


128         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

don't  like — or  maybe  she's  just  lost  her  taste  for  you — 
or  maybe — "  here  Em's  voice  became  a  stage  whisper, 
" — there's  others!"  and  her  mouth  shut  so  tightly  that 
her  resemblance  to  Mother  Goose  was  positively 
startling. 

"Oh,  I  see,"  said  the  minister.  "I'll  try  not  to 
trouble  her  any  more.  I  didn't  understand,"  Philip 
went  on  miserably.  "Thank  you  for  telling  me. 
Good-by!"  And  he  was  gone. 

Em,  peering  through  the  narrow  hall  windows  at 
the  minister's  fast  disappearing  back,  found  herself 
trembling  a  little. 

"The  Lord  have  mercy  on  me — I  hope  I  done  right !" 
she  said  to  herself.  "I  expected  he'd  of  acted  different, 
somehow.  Now  with  Charles  Reuben,  I'm  never  at  a 
loss — I  can  always  tell  just  which  way  he's  goin'  to 
jump.  Wai,"  she  sighed  as  she  turned  away  from  the 
window,  "I  done  my  best,  Lord  knows.  I  give  him 
somethin'  to  think  of,  at  any  rate !" 

And  when  Rose  came  home,  Em,  with  the  convic 
tion  that  she  was  doing  the  only  right  thing,  gave  her 
no  hint  that  Philip  had  called. 


CHAPTER  XI 
"OLD  ROOT" 

A  FEW  days  later,  Rose,  out  on  an  errand  for  Em, 
had  occasion  to  cross  the  Scantic  bridge.  For  a  mo 
ment  she  lingered  and  looked  dreamily  into  the  water, 
remembering  how  Philip  and  she  had  stood  there  in 
the  moonlight  on  Easter  Eve.  What  had  happened 
since  then?  She  could  not  understand  the  tangle. 
Philip  had  not  been  to  the  house  (as  far  as  she  knew). 
Over  and  over  in  her  mind  she  twisted  every  little  word 
that  she  had  said  to  him,  trying  to  find  something  that 
could  have  hurt — that  he  could  have  misunderstood. 
So  have  lovers  tortured  themselves,  ever  since  the 
world  began!  Then,  as  she  stood  there,  she  saw  a 
row  boat  push  out  from  the  bank,  far  down  stream. 

Something  sent  her  heart  into  her  throat.  There 
was  only  one  pair  of  shoulders  like  that  in  South 
Wilbr'm — or  in  the  world — and  they  were  Philip's. 
Also  there  was  only  one  golden  head  like  that — and  it 
belonged  to  Lois  Sessions.  The  pair  were  headed  up 
the  river,  with  two  sets  of  oars.  Rose  turned  away 
quickly  and  hurried  on  down  the  road — she  did  not 

129 


130        THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

care  to  be  seen  either  by  Philip  or  Lois  just  then, 
for,  to  her  own  amazement,  her  eyes  were  full  of 
tears. 

Philip,  however,  looked  up  in  time  to  see  her  turn 
away  and  walk  firmly  on.  It  was  just  as  Miss  Ufford 
had  said — he  told  himself.  Rose,  for  some  reason,  had 
no  further  use  for  him.  She  did  not  even  bother  to 
look  at  him.  Miss  Em  had  hinted  at  some  other  man. 
There  was  certainly  no  one  in  South  Wilbr'm,  he 
mused,  who  could  interest  her — in  that  way — it  must 
be  some  man  from  out  of  town — some  one  he  did  not 
know — 

"You're  anything  but  a  lively  companion,"  com 
plained  Lois,  interrupting  Philip's  miserable  musing. 
"Cheer  up!  I  thought  this  was  a  pleasure  trip!" 

The  girl  and  man  rowed  as  if  they  had  practiced 
together  for  years;  and  each  felt  the  exhilaration  of 
such  companionship,  as  their  strong  young  arms,  bared 
to  the  elbows,  moved  rhythmically  and  sent  the  boat 
leaping  on  through  the  water. 

The  Scantic  was  a  beautiful  little  stream,  with  ever- 
changeful  banks.  For  a  short  distance  the  way  lay 
through  sunny  meadows  that  flanked  the  river  along 
the  village. 

"Doesn't  the  town  look  lovely  from  here?"  said 
Philip,  as  they  reached  a  turn  in  the  river  and  stopped 


"OLD  ROOT"  131 

a  moment  to  enjoy  the  view  of  the  white  houses  and 
church  spires  nestling  in  the  little  hollow  between 
stream  and  mountain. 

"Yes,  it  does,"  assented  Lois.  "South  Wilbr'm  al 
ways  reminds  me  of  the  line  in  the  hymn:  'Where 
every  prospect  pleases  and  only  man  is  vile !'  " 

Philip  laughed.  "Let's  amend  that,"  he  remarked, 
"and  say  'Where  every  prospect  pleases  and  only  one 
man  is  vile !' ' 

"Old  Root?"  asked  Lois. 

"Old  Root,"  said  Philip — "and  speaking  of  angels, 
etc.,  there  he  is  now,  isn't  he — sitting  under  that 
tree?" 

And  there  he  was,  staring  as  if  he  had  never  seen 
two  people  in  a  boat  before  in  all  his  life. 

"He  certainly  has  a  cinch,"  said  Lois.  "His  gar 
dener-nephew  at  college  would  envy  him  his  job  in  life, 
if  he  could  see  him  now." 

After  a  long  look  at  the  rowers,  old  Root  scrambled 
to  his  feet  and  started  off  toward  the  town  as  fast  as 
his  rheumatic  legs  would  carry  him. 

Evidently  he  was  bound  on  important  business,  al 
though  only  a  moment  before  he  had  been  lolling  on 
the  ground  in  the  shade  of  an  old  apple  tree,  his  fish 
line  and  basket  indicating  that  he  intended  to  spend 
at  least  a  part  of  the  afternoon  there. 


132        THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

Soon  the  meadows  were  left  behind  and  the  two 
came  to  a  wilder  portion  of  the  country  where  woods 
grew  down  to  the  river's  edge,  making  lovely  brown 
shadows  in  the  clear  water. 

-On  and  on  they  went,  till  the  town  disappeared  from 
view  and  there  was  nothing  of  civilization  to  jar  the 
eye — nothing  but  deep  blue  sky  and  wooded  banks,  and 
the  soft  swish  of  water  as  they  skimmed  through  it. 

"Isn't  this  gorgeous?"  exclaimed  Lois,  with  a  deep 
indrawn  breath.  "Oh!  If  one  could  always  feel  like 
this,  how  good  one  could  be !  I  don't  want  to  go  home 
— I  want  to  keep  going  on — and  on  and  on,  for 
ever!" 

In  the  meantime  old  Root,  his  sour-apple  face  all 
twisted  up  with  malicious  pleasure,  was  making  for 
the  Post  Office  as  fast  as  he  could.  Arrived  there  he 
sat  down  in  his  favorite  seat,  tipped  his  chair  back  upon 
two  legs  and  proceeded  to  spit  into  the  stove  in  a 
leisurely  and  contemplative  manner.  There  was  no 
fire  in  the  stove,  but  the  village  loungers  always  sat 
around  it  in  a  circle,  winter  and  summer,  presumably 
because  the  inside  of  it  was  convenient  as  a  receptacle 
for  tobacco  juice,  and  the  outside  had  its  uses  as  a 
support  for  the  feet. 

"Wai,  Matthias,"  he  drawled,  in  his  unpleasant 
whine,  "haow  be  you  to-day  ?" 


"OLD  ROOT"  133 

The  Postmaster  came  out  from  behind  his  mail  boxes 
and  leaned  across  the  counter. 

"Fust  rate,  Cyrus,"  said  he.  "But  what's  bringin' 
you  here  so  airly?  You  ain't  forgot  mail  time,  hev 
you?"  with  his  usual  sidewise  grimace  indicative  of 
having  made  a  witty  remark.  Not  waiting  for  an  an 
swer,  he  went  on,  "Nor  yet  you  ain't  come  to  buy 
anythin'  in  the  line  of  gent's  f umishin's  ?"  This  with 
a  very  knowing  look  calculated  to  make  old  Root 
shrivel  up  with  the  guilty  knowledge  that  he  was  too 
stingy  to  buy  anything,  as  long  as  he  could  possibly 
do  without.  Root  received  the  look,  unmoved,  how 
ever,  merely  acknowledging  Howlett's  words  by  land 
ing  a  well  aimed  quid  of  tobacco  in  the  very  center 
of  the  ashes  inside  the  stove. 

All  this  calmness  disturbed  Mr.  Howlett.  It  indi 
cated  something  mysterious;  and  the  Postmaster  was 
nothing  if  not  curious.  However,  he  knew  the  man 
was  contrary,  by  nature,  and  that  his  only  hope  of  rind 
ing  out  what  old  Root  had  come  to  tell  was  in  keeping 
his  own  eagerness  in  check.  Therefore  he  said,  going 
back  behind  his  mail  boxes  once  more,  "Nice  arter- 
noon !" 

To  this,  also,  old  Root  made  no  direct  reply;  but  he 
went  so  far  as  to  take  down  one  foot  from  the  stove 
and  put  up  the  other;  after  which  he  suddenly  turned 


I34        THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

toward  Hewlett  with  a  yellow-toothed  grin  and 
drawled,  "The  Congregational  Church  better  be 
a-watchin'  its  minister!" 

Hewlett  gave  a  plunge  out  of  his  boxes;  but  in 
stantly  thought  better  of  it,  and  plunging  back  again, 
worked  furiously  at  his  task  of  assorting  stamps,  albeit 
his  ears  were  both  cocked  eagerly  in  the  direction  of 
his  visitor. 

"I  say"  the  latter  rasped,  "the  Congregationalists 
better  be  a-watchin'  their  minister!" 

This  was  too  much  for  Howlett  and  hastily  he  asked, 
"What  do  you  mean?" 

Both  feet  came  off  the  stove  with  a  bang  and  old 
Root  leaned  over  toward  Howlett  in  a  flatteringly  con 
fidential  way,  as  he  said  in  an  impressive,  husky,  stage- 
whisper  : 

"I  saw  him  a-sparkin'  Lois  Sessions!" 

"You  don't  say!"  exclaimed  Howlett  breathlessly. 
"Where  was  they?" 

"Out  on  the  river — in  a  boat !  They  was  a-goin'  up 
towards  the  woods  as  fast  as  they  could  git  thar*  and 
they  thought  no  one  was  'raound  to  find  it  aout — but 
7  saw  'em !"  Here  he  cackled  forth  a  sound  that  was 
meant  to  be  ^  laugh. 

"Wai,  wal!"  ejaculated  the  Postmaster.  "Who'd 
'a'  thunk  it !  Ain't  they  the  sly  ones,  these  ministers ! 


"OLD  ROOT" 

You  couldn't  hear  anythin',  I  s'pose?"  he  added  in 
sinuatingly. 

"Didn't  need  to,"  said  old  Root  firmly,  turning  his 
attention  to  the  stove.  "Seein'  was  enough !" 

•  •••••• 

By  the  time  Lois  and  Philip  got  back  to  town  after 
their  long  afternoon  up  the  river,  there  was  hardly  a 
soul  in  the  place  who  was  ignorant  of  the  trip. 

Old  Root's  bomb,  thrown  as  it  was  into  the  very 
center  of  the  community,  had  the  effect  he  had  counted 
on;  and  his  news,  now  grown  and  elaborated  amaz 
ingly,  was  dispensed  free  of  charge  by  the  Post 
master,  with  each  package  of  sugar,  each  yard  of 
ribbon,  each  quart  of  oats  bought  of  him  that  day.  At 
mail  time  the  store  was  full ;  even  the  people  who  gen 
erally  sent  for  their  letters  through  obliging  neighbors, 
preferred  to  come  themselves,  lest  they  should  miss 
something  worth  hearing. 

The  only  person  Mr.  Hewlett  was  disappointed  in 
was  Miss  Ufford.  Usually  she  was  the  first  to  take 
up  a  piece  of  gossip  and  add  to  its  flavor  by  her  spicy 
remarks.  In  this  case  her  behavior  was  unaccount 
able. 

She  had  had  no  hint  of  the  matter  until  she  entered 
the  Post  Office  for  her  daily  newspaper.  Here,  Mr. 
Hewlett  passed  the  tidings  to  her  through  the  little 


136        THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

window,  with  her  mail;  and  every  one  listened,  ex 
pecting  a  treat  from  Em's  tongue. 

Every  one  listened  in  vain. 

As  Em  took  in  the  purport  of  Howlett's  words,  her 
face  became  very  red;  and  she  turned  sharply  around 
to  walk  out  of  the  store. 

She  was  not  to  get  off  so  easily,  though,  for  several 
people  blocked  the  way  and  said,  "What  do  you  think 
of  it,  Em?" 

"I  think  you're  all  a  lot  of  fools,  and  that  you're 
a-makin'  a  mountain  out  of  a  mole  hill — that's  what  I 
think!"  snapped  Em,  her  blue  eyes  sparkling  out  of 
her  red  face.  "As  if  our  minister  couldn't  show  polite 
ness  to  our  doctor's  child,  after  the  doctor  and  his  wife 
done  so  much  for  him,  that  he  couldn't  ever  repay  'em 
if  he  tried!  Why  shouldn't  he  go  rowin'  with  Lois, 
I'd  like  to  know?  The  river's  free,  ain't  it?  I  never 
heard  there  was  a  mortgage  on  it.  And  if  Lois  chooses 
to  spend  her  day  like  that  why,  for  them  that  has  time 
to  fritter  away,  there  ain't  no  harm  in  it,  an'  you  know 
it!  And  as  for  the  minister's  sparkin'  Lois,  why  he 
never  laid  eyes  on  her  till  a  week  ago  last  Sunday,  in 
the  first  place,  and  I  happen  to  know  there's  others 
he's  more  interested  in,  an'  who  could  hev  him  if  they 
wanted  him — an'  they  ain't  been  to  a  college,  either, 
I'd  hev  you  to  know !" 


"OLD  ROOT"  137 

With  which  tardy  and  vehement  demonstration  Em 
turned  her  back  upon  South  Wilbr'm,  figuratively  and 
actually,  and  walked  down  the  steps,  chin  in  air,  a 
glare  in  her  eyes  like  a  war  horse's. 

The  glare  suddenly  encountered  Lois  and  Philip  just 
back  from  the  water  and  coming  toward  the  Post 
Office,  serenely  unconscious  of  all  the  commotion  they 
had  occasioned. 

On  meeting  Em  at  the  foot  of  the  steps,  they  were 
amazed  to  find  the  glare  turned  full  on  them  with  an 
added  fierceness.  Much  surprised,  they  both  bowed 
mechanically,  and  Em,  never  stopping  her  determined 
tread  for  a  moment,  marched  by  them  with  a  swift, 
upward  jerk  of  the  chin  and  fall  of  the  eyes,  which  was 
as  near  as  she  could  come  to  a  cordial  bow,  in  her 
present  state. 

For  Em's  heart  was  sore.  Her  biased  mind  had 
reasoned  at  once  that  "politeness"  alone  would  not 
have  made  Philip  take  Lois  on  the  river — a  thing  he 
had  never  suggested  doing  for  Rose,  though  he  had 
known  her  much  longer — and  that,  and  what  had  hap 
pened  before,  had  been  enough  to  make  her  believe  that 
the  minister  was  serious  in  the  matter.  So  she  had  put 
up  the  bluff  before  the  Postmaster  and  the  rest  of  the 
people,  solely  on  account  of  her  own  love  and  loyalty 
to  poor  little  Rose. 


138        THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

Em  had  never  liked  Lois  Sessions.  They  had  al 
ways  rubbed  each  other  the  wrong  way,  and  somehow, 
now,  her  natural  dislike  was  fast  turning  into  hate;  for 
Em  was  never  lukewarm — it  was  all  one  way  or  the 
other  with  her,  and  she  never  did  things  by  halves. 

Her  love  for  Rose  was  almost  idolatry,  and  her  dis 
like  and  distrust  of  Lois  were  fast  becoming  as  strong. 

Her  mind  worked  ceaselessly  as  she  walked  up  the 
hill  to  her  home ;  and  she  was  trying,  trying  always,  to 
think  out  some  way  to  "break  up  matters"  between 
Lois  and  Philip  before  it  should  all  become  irrevocable. 
The  wildest  schemes  raced  into  her  head,  but  she  was 
a  practical  woman  and  dismissed  each  of  them  as  it 
came,  knowing  that  she  was  really  powerless  to  do 
anything — for  in  spite  of  her  hints  at  the  Post  Office, 
there  was  the  undeniable  fact  that  Mr.  Eden  had  never 
actually  proposed  to  Rose,  nor  as  far  as  she  knew  com 
mitted  himself  in  any  way. 

What  should  she  do? 


CHAPTER  XII 

EVERYBODY'S  BUSINESS 

THAT  evening  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Sessions  held  council 
together  over  the  rapidly  growing  intimacy  of  their 
daughter  and  the  Minister.  Eden  had  dropped  in  for 
a  moment  after  supper  "to  see  that  Miss  Sessions  was 
none  the  worse  for  her  row." 

The  man  was  desperately  lonely  and  unhappy.  The 
prospect  of  sitting  alone  in  his  study  until  bedtime, 
trying  to  work,  but  actually  brooding  in  miserable  per 
plexity  over  Rose's  strange  treatment  of  him,  was 
more  than  he  wished  to  face.  And,  rather  to  get 
away  from  himself  than  for  any  other  reason,  he 
strayed  across  to  the  Doctor's. 

Lois  had  insisted  on  his  staying  awhile,  and  the  two 
were  spending  the  evening  by  themselves  in  the  old- 
fashioned  parlor,  Lois  at  the  piano  and  Philip  hover 
ing  near. 

Lois  inherited  her  mother's  talent  for  music,  and 
one  of  the  many  extravagances  her  parents  had  entered 
into  to  please  her  had  been  a  really  fine  piano.  She 
played  and  sang  extremely  well,  and  to-night  as  she 

139 


140        THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

sat  bringing  a  flood  of  melody  out  of  the  keys,  her 
one  listener  was  soothed  by  it.  Philip  was  wretched, 
and  the  music  was  drowsily  cooling  to  his  hurt. 

Mrs.  Sessions  looked  in  through  the  door,  occasion 
ally,  and  once  asked  Lois  if  she  didn't  want  a  lamp; 
but  the  girl  answered  that  she  would  rather  play  in 
the  dark.  And  as  there  seemed  to  be  no  good  excuse 
for  Mrs.  Sessions'  lingering  any  longer,  and  no  one 
invited  her  to  do  so,  she  shut  the  door  quietly  and 
went  back  to  her  husband,  sighing  a  little  to  herself  as 
she  went 

"Doctor,"  she  said,  stopping  behind  his  chair  and 
smoothing  his  thick,  silvery  hair,  "this  affair  of  Lois 
and  Mr.  Eden  is  the  quickest  thing  I  ever  saw — Do  you 
suppose  he  can  be  getting  in  love  with  her  in  this  little 
while?" 

The  doctor  reached  up  a  large,  comfortable  hand  and 
patted  very  tenderly  the  small  one  he  found  on  top  of 
his  head.  "Well,  Delia,"  he  answered,  "the  first  time 
I  ever  saw  you  was  at  church — you  had  on  a  pink  satin 
poke  bonnet  just  the  color  of  your  cheeks,  and  a 
flowered  muslin  dress — and  you  were  just  seventeen. 
I  took  one  look  at  you,  and  I  knew,  after  that  one 
look,  that  it  was  all  up  with  me.  You  had  my  life 
bound  right  up  in  that  little  pink  bonnet  of  yours  and 
I  vowed  then  and  there  that  you  should  marry  me  just 


EVERYBODY'S  BUSINESS  141 

as  soon  as  I  could  get  my  Medical  Degree — and  I  stuck 
to  it,  didn't  I  ?  I  think  my  love  was  the  genuine  article. 
How  about  it  ?" 

The  look  of  affection  with  which  Mrs.  Sessions  met 
his  upturned  gaze,  and  her  gentle  kiss,  left  no  doubt 
about  the  mutual  happiness  the  years  had  brought 
them. 

"But  we  were  exceptions,  dear !"  she  went  on.  "If 
I  could  know  that  Lois  would  be  as  happy  as  we  are, 
I  wouldn't  have  a  word  to  say." 

The  doctor  straightened  up  in  his  chair.  "I  think 
they  might  love  each  other — that's  the  main  thing. 
Aside  from  that,  young  Eden  is  a  rising  man.  He  has 
much  more  to  offer  his»  bride  than  I  had — "  Here  a 
remonstrating  hand  on  his  mouth  stopped  his  words, 
and  his  wife  broke  in — 

"You  know  you  could  have  made  a  great  name  for 
yourself  if  you  had  chosen  to  take  your  place  in  a  large 
city  where  chances  come  for  one  to  rise;  but  your 
goodness  and  tender-heartedness — and  that  alone, — 
kept  you  here  in  this  town,  just  because  you  knew  the 
people  needed  you  so!  If  that  isn't  being  a  real  Chris 
tian  Martyr,  I  don't  know  what  is !  No  minister  ever 
earned  the  right  to  a  heavenly  crown  more  truly  than 
you  have — and  all  Mr.  Eden  may  or  may  not  have  to 
offer  Lois  could  never  be  equal  to  the  privilege  of  liv- 


142         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

ing  side  by  side  with  you  for  thirty  years,  as  I  have 
done.  I  don't  like  to  hear  you  talk  that  way!"  And 
the  doctor's  wife,  feeling  the  tears  creep  into  her  eyes 
and  voice,  stopped  speaking  suddenly.  Then  she  went 
on,  bravely,  if  a  little  shakily,  "I've  got  the  pink  bon 
net,  yet." 

"Delia!  Have  you  really?"  said  the  doctor  de 
lightedly. 

"Yes,"  she  answered.  "It's  packed  away  up  attic — 
I  never  would  let  it  be  thrown  out  or  made  over, 
because  I  was  always  certain  that  you  would  never  have 
fallen  in  love  with  me  if  it  had  not  been  for  that 
bonnet,  when  it  was  new.  I  wore  it  the  first  time  that 
Sunday,"  she  added  dreamily. 

"Sometime  soon  let's-  make  a  pilgrimage  to  the  attic 
and  have  a  look  at  it — shall  we?  I've  a  notion  you'd 
look  mighty  pretty  in  it  even  now!"  said  the  doctor 
with  a  roguish  twinkle  in  his  eyes.  They  were  seated 
in  the  office  just  across  the  hall  from  the  parlor;  and 
they  were  conscious  of  long  and  frequent  pauses  in 
the  music.  At  the  moment  Philip  was  saying  to  Lois : 

"Do  you  know  what  you  look  like,  sitting  here 
playing,  in  that  white  dress,  with  the  shaft  of  moon 
beams  lighting  up  your  face  and  fingers  and  leaving 
everything  else  in  shadow?" 

She  did  not  answer;  but  raising  her  head  began  to 


EVERYBODY'S  BUSINESS  143 

play  the  softly  dropping,  mysterious  first  movement  of 
"The  Moonlight  Sonata." 

"You  look  just  like  the  'Modern  Saint  Cecilia  at 
the  Organ/  "  Philip  went  on. 

Then  the  music  cast  its  spell  over  him  and  he  sat 
silent. 

When  the  last  note  had  died  away  the  girl  suddenly 
rose  and  going  over  to  the  window  looked  out  at  the 
moonlit  lawn. 

"Let's  go  back  into  the  other  room  and  sit  with 
Mother  and  Father — shall  we  ?"  she  said,  with  a  catch 
in  her  throat.  "I  can't  play  any  more  to-night — " 

"I  think  I'll  be  going  home,  if  you  don't  mind,"  an 
swered  the  man.  "I'm  afraid  I  wouldn't  be  good  com 
pany  for  any  one  just  now.  Say  good-night  to  them 
for  me,  will  you?" 

A  moment  more  and  he  was  gone.  Lois  went  back 
alone  and  sat  in  the  dark  parlor,  at  the  piano ;  although 
her  fingers  did  not  touch  the  keys. 

If  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Sessions  could  have  seen  her 
tight  clenched  hands,  they  would  have  been  more  than 
astonished.  She  had  something  to  fight  out  for  her 
self,  and  she  was  very  brave. 

Three-quarters  of  an  hour  she  sat  there,  and  her 
parents  were  beginning  to  wonder  at  hearing  neither 
the  murmur  of  voices  nor  the  sound  of  the  piano, 


144         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

when  she  walked  out  into  the  office,  and  going  up  and 
laying  her  cheek  against  her  father's  (he  always  came 
in  for  the  larger  share  of  her  attention,  her  feeling  for 
her  mother  being  mere  cool  toleration),  she  said  quite 
in  her  ordinary  manner : 

"I  think  I'll  go  upstairs  now  and  go  to  bed.  Mr. 
Eden  left  his  good-nights  for  you." 

She  took  very  calmly  their  murmurs  of  surprise  at 
the  abrupt  ending  of  the  evening;  then,  with  a  light 
kiss  for  each,  she  went  upstairs  to  the  little  blue  and 
white  bedroom  once  occupied  by  Rose  Warren. 

Rose  was  having  troubles  of  her  own,  not  indirectly 
connected  with  Lois.  She  had  resolved,  however,  to 
keep  her  feelings  entirely  to  herself. 

Her  good  little  heart  shrank  from  burdening  Em 
with  her  worries ;  and  her  loyalty  to  Philip,  as  well  as 
her  natural  pride,  made  her  vow  that  there  should  be 
no  worries.  Resolutely  she  put  the  man  out  of  her 
mind,  and  was  so  sweet  and  helpful,  so  cheerful  and 
affectionate,  that,  when  Em  came  home  from  the  Post 
Office  that  Monday  night,  she  had  not  the  heart  to 
say  a  word  to  Rose  about  what  she  had  seen  and 
heard. 

"Aunty,  do  you  know  what  you're  doing?"  said 
Rose  suddenly,  with  large-eyed  disapproval,  as  they 
were  getting  ready  to  place  their  evening  meal  on  the 


EVERYBODY'S  BUSINESS  145 

supper  table,  "you're  cutting  \i )  the  whole  of  that 
enormous  loaf  of  bread — just  for  you  and  Danny 
and  me!  And  you  know  we  couldn't  possibly  eat  half 
of  it !  And  you  sprinkled  salt  on  the  apple  pie — I  saw 
you — and  I  saw  you  wipe  it  off  carefully,  and  then  put 
sugar  in  its  place,  too,  though  you  did  walk  off  into 
the  buttery  to  do  it !  Now,  Aunty — "  (leaning  across 
the  table  shaking  a  very  small  but  firm  forefinger  at 
Em)  "there's  something  on  your  mind!  Are  you  and 
Charles  Reuben  planning  an  elopement  ?  You  have  all 
the  symptoms,  and  I  really  feel  that  you  must  be 
watched.  You're  just  like  Mary  Blake,  the  girl  who 
eloped  from  North  Wilbr'm  Academy  while  I  was  at 
school  there !  The  day  before  she  ran  away  with  Joe 
Hammond,  she  emptied  a  whole  pitcher  of  water  into 
the  waste-paper  basket,  and  never  knew  she  hadn't 
poured  it  into  the  wash  bowl,  until  she  was  deluged.'* 
"Now  see  here!"  said  Em  snappishly,  although 
secretly  much  relieved  at  the  chance  of  turning  mat 
ters  on  herself,  and  so  away  from  subjects  more 
dangerous  to  Rose's  peace  of  mind,  "Now  see  here, 
Rose  Warren !  You  know  if  there's  one  thing  I  won't 
stand,  it's  havin'  you  bring  that  shiftless  Charles 
Reuben  to  my  notice!  If  folks  don't  stop  a-talkin', 
I'm  liable  to  take  up  with  'im  after  all,  just  to  spite 
'em !  As  I've  said  before  and  I'll  say  again — " 


146         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

"Oh,  Rose!  Mr.  Eden's  going  to  marry  Doctor's 
daughter!  Everybody  says  so,  down  at  the  store!" 
shouted  Danny  breathlessly,  as  he  appeared  without 
warning  in  the  doorway. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

EM  SPEAKS  HER  MIND 

THE  next  day  Mrs.  Sessions  was  seized  with  one 
of  her  bad  attacks  of  rheumatism  and  Lois  was  de 
puted  to  take  care  of  her  mother  until  she  should  be 
able  to  be  up  and  about  once  more. 

Her  nursing  consisted  for  the  most  part  in  sitting 
in  her  mother's  room,  in  a  pretty  and  becoming  frock, 
with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  window  hoping  for  Philip 
to  appear.  She  was,  supposedly,  head  nurse;  but 
Doctor,  himself,  did  all  the  real  waiting  on  his  wife, 
making  her  comfortable  before  starting  on  his  rounds 
each  time,  and  ministering  to  her  every  need,  when 
ever  he  was  in  the  house.  He  was  as  tender  as  a 
woman  in  the  sick  room,  and  stepped  as  lightly,  in 
spite  of  his  great  bulk. 

Lois  had  offered  to  rub  her  mother  on  the  first  day 
of  her  illness;  but  the  girl  disliked  the  odor  of  the 
liniment  so  much,  and  in  spite  of  her  superb  young 
strength,  so  evidently  considered  the  labor  an  un 
necessary  bore,  that  her  mother  pretended  not  to 
need  the  rubbing ;  and  never  told  her  husband,  for  fear 

147 


148         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

that  he  might  blame  Lois.  She  herself  never  thought 
of  blaming  her  daughter.  To  the  mother,  Lois  was 
still  a  baby,  to  be  petted  and  shielded  from  all  things 
disagreeable  or  unpleasant.  Mother-like,  she  gave 
everything,  and  looked  for  no  return.  If  Mrs.  Ses 
sions  thought  about  it  at  all,  doubtless  she  reasoned 
that  Lois'  beauty  and  cleverness  and  her  charm 
more  than  compensated  for  the  lack  of  anything 
else. 

Of  course,  every  one  knew  of  Mrs.  Sessions'  ill 
ness,  and  one  of  the  first  persons  to  call  on  her  was 
Em  Ufford. 

She  bustled  in  full  of  importance  and  sympathy, 
bearing  in  her  hands  a  dish  covered  with  a  spotless 
napkin. 

"Wai,  how's  the  rheumatiz  to-day?"  she  queried, 
drawing  up  a  chair  and  sitting  down  by  the  bed. 
"  'Bout  the  same  ?  Wai,  no  loss's  a  body's  gain,  they 
say.  I'm  glad  you're  no  worse,  anyway!  Rheumatiz 
always  hes  to  run  its  course.  'Tain't  no  use  to  try 
to  hurry  it,  I  find.  I  made  you  some  arrow-root 
jelly — an'  I  got  my  mornin's  work  all  done  up  early, 
so's  I  could  come  an'  set  with  you  a  spell,  an'  see  you 
eat  it.  Now  mind  you  swatter  every  scrap,  for  it's  too 
good  to  waste,  I'd  hev  you  know!" 

While  Mrs.  Sessions  was  thanking  her  and  admiring 


EM  SPEAKS  HER  MIND  149 

the  clearness  of  the  jelly,  Lois  came  into  the  room, 
and  Em  turned  a  disapproving  gaze  on  her. 

"How  de  do,  Lois?  Are  you  goin' to  a  party ?  No? 
Oh,  I  thought  you  wuz.  We  folks  in  South  Wilbr'm 
don't  generally  dress  up  in  the  mornin' — there's  too 
much  around  the  house  that  needs  to  be  done.  Ain't 
that  so,  Mis'  Sessions?" 

"Lois  stays  here  and  takes  care  of  me,"  said  the 
mother,  protecting  her  young.  "One  doesn't  need  a 
kitchen  apron  on  to  do  that." 

"Oh,  wal,"  flounced  Em,  "I  s'pose  you  both  know 
your  own  business  best — I  only  hope  you  don't  over 
work  yourself,  Lois,  a-takin'  care  o'  your  Ma!"  she 
added  spitefully. 

Lois  sat  down  by  the  window,  not  deigning  to  an 
swer  Em's  sally.  Mrs.  Sessions  ate  her  jelly  peace 
fully,  for  although  she  resented  the  invariable  friction 
between  Em  and  Lois,  she  was  too  fond  of  Em  to  lay 
up  anything  against  her. 

The  spinster  considered  a  moment  and  then  went 
on  in  a  tone  which  she  tried  to  make  coquettish, 
"They're  sayin'  all  over  town  that  there's  goin'  to 
be  a  weddin'  here  in  this  house  before  long — do  you 
folks  know  anything  about  it?" 

Mrs.  Sessions  avoided  Em's  sharp  eye  and  looked 
inquiringly  at  Lois. 


ISO         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

"There  may  be,"  answered  that  young  person  in  a 
leisurely  tone.  "And  again,  there  may  not !"  she  added 
with  her  clear  silvery  laugh,  as  she  looked  directly 
into  Em's  defeated  face,  with  her  mocking  brown 
eyes. 

"Lois  Sessions,  I  should  like  to  shake  you,"  shrilled 
Em.  "You  exasperate  a  body  to  extinction,  with 
those  cool  ways  o'  yours!  If  you  ain't  engaged,  then 
you  ought  to  be,  that's  all  I  can  say!  You  needn't 
expect  to  run  after  a  man  every  instant  for  over  a 
week  an'  not  hev  folks  in  this  town  ask  questions." 

Lois  rose  up  to  her  full  height. 

"I'll  thank  you  not  to  talk  about  my  'running  after' 
anybody,  Miss  Ufford — it  isn't  in  my  line!  You're 
beside  yourself  with  rage  at  me  and  you're  so  trans 
parent  that  the  reason  is  not  hard  to  find.  If  /  have 
been  talked  about,  I'm  not  the  only  one.  Everybody 
knows  that  that  silly  little  Warren  girl  is  dead  in  love 
with  Mr.  Eden—" 

"It's  a  lie!"  screamed  Em,  jumping  up  out  of  her 
chair. 

"She's  in  love  with  him  and  he  doesn't  care  a 
finger  for  her." 

"It's  a  lie — "  Em  repeated  automatically  while  her 
heart  seemed  to  rise  up  and  choke  her. 

"It's  not  a  lie.    It's  all  of  it  true,  and  you  know  it — 


EM  SPEAKS  HER  MIND  151 

and  that's  why  you've  come  here,  pretending  to  come 
to  see  Mother!" 

Em  turned  white. 

"Lois,  Lois!"  pleaded  Mrs.  Sessions.  But  Lois 
paid  no  attention. 

"You  came  here  for  news;  and  you  shall  have  it. — 
Yes,  open  your  eyes  as  wide  as  you  like.  Instead  of 
'running  after'  Mr.  Eden,  as  you  so  politely  suggest, 
it  has  been  quite  the  other  way.  I  have  not  yet  de 
cided  whether  I  care  to  tie  myself  down  to  being  a 
minister's  wife  or  not — it  might  be  rather  wearing 
to  have  the  members  of  the  congregation  take  one 
to  task  every  time  one  changed  one's  dress,  or  put  a 
flower  in  one's  hair.  If  I  do  marry  Mr.  Eden,  I 
shall  certainly  insist  upon  his  leaving  South  Wilbr'm. 
I  never  could  stand  it  to  live  in  the  same  town  with 
you!"  she  finished  insolently. 

Em  was  perfectly  livid  with  rage. 

"So  it's  all  true,  is  it!  Wai,  I'm  sorry  for  Mr. 
Eden,  and  I'm  sorry  for  the  people  of  his  church,  if 
he  marries  you!  It's  a  pity  you  ain't  got  some  of 
your  father's  and  mother's  goodness,  but  you  ain't!" 
"Em,  for  heaven's  sake!"  cried  Mrs.  Sessions,  al 
most  in  tears. 

"Don't  you  try  to  hush  me  up,  Delia  Sessions !   Its 
time  somebody  gave  this  girl  of  yours  a  good  dressing 


152        THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

down,  and  I  ain't  afraid  to  be  the  one!"  Then  dart 
ing  her  eyes  back  onto  Lois — "It's  open  war  between 
us  at  last,  and  I'm  glad  'tis!  You've  lorded  it  over 
everybody  all  your  life,  Lois  Sessions,  but  you  ain't 
a-goin'  to  lord  it  over  me!  Your  Pa  an'  your  Ma 
have  worked  themselves  to  the  bone  for  you,  and 
what  are  you?  A  selfish,  insolent  snip  with  no  thought 
for  any  one  but  yourself !  You  don't  care  to  live  in  the 
same  town  with  me,  do  you — wal,  the  feelin's  mutual, 
but  I'm  too  old  a  woman  to  be  sassed  to  my  face  as 
you've  sassed  me  and  I  won't  stand  it.  I  ain't  so 
patient  as  your  mother,  poor  woman,  nor  so  blind, 
though  perhaps  it's  a  mercy  she  don't  see  through  you 
as  I  do !  I  only  hope  you  won't  break  her  heart  and 
your  father's,  some  day,"  the  high,  quivering  voice 
went  on.  "It's  what  I  expect  an'  look  for,  though, 
just  as  sure  as  the  sun  rises  an'  sets !  Now,  I've  said 
my  say  an'  I'm  glad  I've  done  it — it's  high  time 
some  one  did;  but,  Mis'  Sessions,  I'm  as  sorry  as  I 
can  be,  that  I've  distressed  you.  I'm  a-goin'  now — 
good-by.  I  hope  you'll  be  all  right  before  long. 
Don't  cry.  I'm  sorry  I  spoke  so  harsh  as  I  did, 
before  you — but  it  hed  to  be  done!" 

"One  moment,  please,"  said  Lois  icily,  as  Em  turned 
her  back  on  her  and  started  toward  the  door  without 
a  word  of  good-by.  "I  want  this  thing  clearly  un- 


EM  SPEAKS  HER  MIND  153 

derstood — you've  insulted  me  in  my  father's  house, 
before  my  sick  mother.  And  until  you  take  back  your 
words,  kindly  refrain  from  coming  here  again!"  Her 
eyes  were  black  and  hard  and  shining,  her  naturally 
firm  chin  aggressive,  and  Philip  Eden  would  scarcely 
have  recognized  her  as  "Saint  Cecilia," 

"You  needn't  worry — "  (Em  tossed  her  answer 
over  her  shoulder  without  turning  around.)  "If  this 
town  ain't  big  enough  to  hold  us  both,  certainly  this 
house  ain't!"  With  which  she  marched  from  the 
room,  and  let  herself  out  at  the  front  door. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   TANGLE 

AFTER  Lois'  departure  for  college,  the  excitement 
and  conjecture  incident  to  her  meteoric  "love  affair" 
soon  subsided  and  was  forgotten  in  the  general  prepa 
ration  for  an  event  of  keenest  interest  to  every  one  in 
town — namely,  Philip  Eden's  examination,  ordination 
and  installation  in  the  Congregational  Church. 

This  was  to  take  place  early  in  June,  and  all  through 
the  month  of  May  there  were  committee  meetings, 
board  meetings,  meetings  of  the  Ladies'  Society,  etc., 
to  discuss  ways  and  means  of  making  the  great  day 
one  that  should  go  down  in  town  history.  The  Church 
received  a  new  coat  of  white  paint  outside,  was  redec 
orated  inside,  a  new  carpet  was  ordered  and  the  high- 
backed  pulpit  chairs  were  re-covered  to  match.  The 
organ  was  tuned,  and  the  choir  held  several  rehearsals 
each  week,  going  over  and  over  the  music  to  be  sung 
at  the  installation. 

A  chorus  was  organized  from  the  young  girls  of 
the  church.  They  were  to  fill  the  organ  loft;  the 

154 


THE  TANGLE  155 

choir,  proper,  standing  in  the  very  front  rank,  as  be 
came  their  importance  as  veterans  in  the  cause. 

Of  course,  Jane  Bliss  would  never  yield  the  place 
of  honor  as  first  soprano  and  leader  of  the  choir, 
while  she  had  breath  left  to  force  a  sound  from  the 
long,  ropy  cords  of  her  neck ;  but,  as  Rose  Warren  had 
undeniably  the  best  voice  in  town,  the  music  com 
mittee  suggested  that  she  should  take  the  place  of 
lieutenant  to  Jane's  captaincy,  and  drill  the  girls  on 
the  choral  work.  Jane  rather  resented  even  this,  but 
Rose  was  so  tactful,  and  made  opportunities  to  ask 
her  advice,  in  such  a  pretty  way,  that  Jane  was  quite 
mollified ;  and  ended  by  feeling  very  much  flattered  that 
her  lieutenant,  could  not  to  all  seeming,  possibly  get 
along  without  her. 

There  was  no  doubt  that  Rose  knew  instinctively 
how  to  make  people  happy — not  that  she  ever  "man 
aged,"  but  her  natural  sweetness  seemed  to  radiate 
good  feeling  all  about  her,  and  her  kind  little  heart 
always  told  her  the  very  thing  people  wanted  her  to 
do  or  say. 

It  was  no  easy  task  for  her  to  keep  up  a  brave  and 
cheerful  spirit  at  this  time;  for  since  the  day  when 
Danny  had  burst  into  the  house  with  the  rumor  of 
Lois'  engagement  to  the  minister,  she  had  felt  as  if 
there  was  nothing  worth  while  any  more.  That  even- 


156         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

ing  Em  had  found  her  lying  across  the  foot  of  her 
bed  in  the  dark,  in  a  paroxysm  of  weeping. 

Em,  without  a  word,  had  gathered  her  up  into  her 
arms;  and  there,  on  the  spinster's  bony  breast,  the 
girl  had  sobbed  her  lonely  little  heart  out.  Em  asked 
no  questions,  but  only  whispered,  "There,  there,  sh — , 
my  pretty!  Em  knows  all  about  it — sh — sh — every- 
thing'll  come  right  somehow — the  Lord  ain't  a-goin'  to 
let  my  little  bird  beat  her  wings  to  pieces  like  this 
for  nothin'.  It's  all  right,  see  if  it  ain't!  He  puts 
us  to  great  trials  sometimes,  just  to  prove  how  strong 
we  can  be — don't  you  know  that,  dearie? 

"Rosie,  can't  you  feel  the  love  in  my  old  arms?" 
A  clinging  pressure  of  the  soft,  young  ones  around 
Em's  scraggy  neck  was  Rose's  answer.  "Wai,  don't 
you  know  that  God  loves  you  just  as  much  more? 
Those  whom  the  Lord  loveth  he  chasteneth ! 

"Take  heart,  my  bird!  He'll  make  it  all  right  in 
the  end — if  He  wants  you  to  marry  the  man  you  love. 
If  not,  then  there's  some  good  reason  why,  and  you 
must  accept  it,  and  fold  your  love  away  reverently, 
lock  the  drawer  and  throw  the  key  down  the  well. 
We  can't  help  love  a-comin'.  It  comes  unasked,  unbe- 
knowest,  and  pitches  its  tent  in  our  hearts ;  but  friend^ 
ship  builds  there — remember  that;  and  when  love  has 
come  and  gone — if  it  must  go — if  'tain't  right  to  have 


THE  TANGLE  157 

it  stay — why,  then,  friendship  stands  strong  and  beau 
tiful,  awaitin'  to  teach  us  to  help  ourselves  and  each 
other. 

"Now  dry  your  pretty  eyes  and  tell  Em  you're  her 
brave  child !" 

Gradually,  Rose  had  become  quiet;  then  Em  and 
she  had  knelt  beside  the  little  bed  together  and,  with 
arms  intertwined  and  heads  bent,  had  sent  up  a  prayer 
to  the  Heavenly  Father  for  strength. 

Since  that  night,  not  a  word  had  been  exchanged 
between  Em  and  Rose  on  the  subject;  but  the  older 
woman  watched  the  younger  with  a  dumb,  dog-like 
wistfulness,  as  the  girl  went  about  her  daily  tasks 
quite  as  usual — except  that  she  was,  if  anything, 
sweeter  than  before. 

Trouble  had  brought  them  very  close  together,  and 
Rose  understood  the  generous  depths  of  the  older 
woman's  twisted  nature,  as  no  one  else  ever  had. 

Em  had  one  secret,  however,  that  she  could  not 
share  with  Rose,  and  it  was  one  that  was  like  the  grip 
of  an  icy  hand  on  her  heart.  This  was,  that  Rose, 
for  all  her  cheerfulness  and  vivacity,  was  not  at  all 
well.  She  never  complained  in  the  least,  of  feeling 
ill;  but  Em  was  not  deceived;  and  as  her  graceful 
little  figure  became  daily  more  slender,  Em  could 
think  of  nothing  but  the  awful  Warren  heritage,  and 


158         THE  EXES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

what  it  would  mean  if  Rose  should  go  as  had  nearly 
all  her  family.  Not  that  there  was  any  immediate 
sign  of  such  a  thing — only,  Rose  was  losing  ground; 
it  was  evident.  All  this  worked  like  rank  poison  in 
Em's  veins,  whenever  she  thought  of  Lois  Sessions. 

Strange  to  say,  she  did  not  blame  the  man  much  for 
his  defection;  s"he  believed  that  in  this  instance  the 
woman  did  tempt  him;  and  men  counted  really  very 
little  in  her  scale  of  things,  anyhow.  The  matter  pre 
sented  itself  to  her  in  this  way :  Her  beloved  foster- 
child  wanted  something,  and  Lois  Sessions  had  taken 
it  away  from  her.  Therefore,  there  was  no  epithet 
in  her  vocabulary  bad  enough  for  Lois.  Further  than 
that,  her  child  was  going  into  a  decline,  and  Lois 
was  absolutely  responsible  for  that — consequently 
something  must  be  done.  She  turned  the  matter  over 
and  over  in  her  mind,  during  her  daily  housework  and 
on  her  way  to  and  from  the  "Ladies'  Society"  meet 
ings.  She  swept  it  into  the  carpet,  baked  it  into  the 
cake,  sewed  it  into  her  patchwork  quilt;  but  as  yet 
no  help  had  come. 

About  this  time  she  began  getting  "double  doses" 
of  Charles  Reuben.  In  other  words,  his  weekly  call 
became  semi-weekly.  He,  like  every  one  else,  was 
much  interested  in  the  coming  Installation  of  Mr. 
Eden,  and  invented  all  sorts  of  errands  connected 


THE  TANGLE  159 

with  the  preparations  that  he  said  his  sister  wanted 
him  to  attend  to  and  in  which  consultation  with  Em 
was  absolutely  necessary. 

Beside  this,  he  was  constructing  a  gigantic  ode  tak 
ing  in  all  the  history  of  the  church,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  inhabitants  in  general  and  the  minister  in  par 
ticular.  A'nd  he  insisted  on  reading  it  to  Em,  bit  by 
bit,  serial  fashion. 

Em  let  him  keep  coming,  partly  because  he  distracted 
her  mind,  and  more  because  he  made  Rose  laugh ;  but 
he  became  vastly  encouraged  by  her  unusual  gracious- 
ness,  and  preened  and  plumed  himself  more  than 
ever,  as  he  strutted  about  town,  his  high  hat  at  an 
angle  of  forty-five  degrees,  his  frock  coat  thrown 
open,  and  his  thumbs  thrust  into  his  arm  pits. 

There  was  still  another  reason  why  Em  was  willing 
to  stand  larger  and  more  frequent  doses  of  Charles 
Reuben.  Danny  adored  him,  and  odd  as  it  seemed, 
Charles  Reuben's  influence  over  Danny  was  decidedly 
beneficial.  The  little  boy  was  growing  to  be  a  good 
deal  of  a  problem  to  both  Em  and  Rose,  dear  as  he 
was. 

Em  often  said,  "He  needs  a  man  over  him — we 
coddle  him  too  much!  Before  long,  he'll  ride  right 
over  us  both,  rough  shod.  What  the  blessed  baby 
wants,  is  a  man  to  make  him  do  what's  what." 


160        THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

From  the  beginning,  Charles  Reuben  had  fascinated 
Danny.  The  boy  never  noticed  anything  grotesque 
about  "The  Bard."  Childlike,  he  saw  straight  into 
the  heart  of  the  man,  and  what  he  found  there  was 
good. 

Charles  Reuben  became  Danny's  dearest  friend,  and 
cherished  companion.  They  took  wonderful,  long 
walks  together  in  the  woods,  and  Charles  Reuben 
seemed  to  have  an  intimate  friendship  with  every  rab 
bit  and  bird  they  met.  He  taught  Danny  how  to  be 
friends  with  them  all,  too,  and  sometimes  the  "Bard 
of  New  England"  rehearsed  his  ode  in  the  depths  of 
a  thicket  surrounded  by  a  quaint  but  very  attentive 
and  absorbed  audience  of  one  little  boy,  a  squirrel  or 
two,  a  rabbit,  and  even  a  tiny  bird. 

Em  knew  nothing  at  all  about  these  woodland  re 
citals.  Perhaps,  considering  her  aversion  for  The 
Bard's  poetry,  it  was  just  as  well  she  should  not  know; 
but  it  was  perfectly  evident  to  her  acute  perception 
that  Danny  was  always  more  obedient,  more  subdued 
and  polite,  after  he  had  been  with  Charles  Reuben ;  and 
she  soon  formed  the  habit  of  saying,  "Charles  Reuben, 
you  talk  to  him!  You  can  put  more  sense  into  him 
than  Rosie  and  me  together — which  is  certainly  a  mys 
tery,  considering  that  you  show  so  little  sense  regardin* 
your  own  doin's!" 


THE  TANGLE  161 

So  Em  came  to  depend  more  and  more  upon  Charles 
Reuben  to  manage  Danny — and  Danny  seemed  to  need 
the  managing,  very  much.  Charles  Reuben  had  never 
been  so  happy.  Em  had  never  come  so  near  to  ad 
miring  him. 

Meanwhile,  Charles  Reuben's  sister  fluttered  back 
and  forth  through  the  village,  from  house  to  house, 
more  full  of  business  than  almost  any  one  else  in  town. 
She  always  undertook  willingly  the  things  that  no 
one  else  wanted  to  do.  And  her  part,  just  now,  was  to 
canvass  the  place  for  table-linen,  silverware,  china, 
etc.,  to  be  lent  for  the  great  dinner  that  was  to  be 
held  in  the  vestry  after  the  examination  of  Mr.  Eden 
•by  the  Ministerial  Council,  and  before  the  Installa 
tion. 

The  South  Wilbr'm  women  were  all  famous  cooks 
— all  except  Cyrus  Root's  wife,  Hannah.  No  one  ever 
laid  it  up  against  Hannah,  for  the  whole  town  knew 
that  old  Root  was  too  stingy  to  have  anything  better 
than  corned  beef  and  boiled  potatoes  on  his  table; 
so  his  wife  never  had  a  chance  to  learn  to  cook  any 
thing  else. 

Phoebe  Bliss  and  Experience  Lee  were  wonderful 
cake  makers,  Mrs.  Sessions  was  a  master  hand  at  es- 
calloped  oysters  and  salads;  while  no  one  could  rival 
Em  Ufford's  chicken  pies.  Jane  Bliss'  hot  biscuits 


162         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

were  as  light  as  snowflakes,  and  her  preserves  were 
the  finest  imaginable. 

The  roasts,  and  ice-cream  making,  were  always 
equally  divided  between  Mrs.  Sessions,  Experience  Lee 
and  Em  Ufford;  and  the  small  boys  of  the  church, 
Danny  included,  were  always  pressed  into  service  to 
pound  the  ice  and  turn  the  freezers.  So  the  con 
gregation  was  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  big  fam 
ily,  where  church  celebrations  were  concerned,  and 
everything  went  on  merrily. 

Philip  Eden  himself  was  hard  at  work,  getting  ready 
for  his  part  in  the  Council  and  Installation,  and  spent 
many  hours  each  day  and  evening  in  his  study. 

He  was  full  of  zeal  in  his  chosen  calling,  and,  with 
his  devoted  little  flock  around  him,  his  cup  of  hap 
piness  should  have  been  full. 

Instead,  he  was  wretched.  He  could  not  under 
stand  what  had  come  between  Rose  and  himself,  any 
more  than  could  she.  What  Lois  had  told  him  bound 
the  man  to  silence.  So  he  could  not  explain  to  any 
one  why  he  had  devoted  so  much  time  to  the  doctor's 
daughter  during  her  stay.  The  fact  that  he  was  the 
Minister  prevented  people  from  telling  him  how  he 
and  Lois  were  being  gossiped  about — and  it  did  not 
occur  to  him  that  the  neighbors  would  attach  any  im 
portance  to  his  visits  at  the  doctor's.  Dearth  of  con- 


THE  TANGLE  163 

ceit  made  him  dense  in  such  matters.  That  Rose 
should  have  forbidden  him  to  come  to  see  her,  as 
Miss  Em  had  said,  had  no  connection  in  his  mind 
with  Lois.  But  even  the  most  sensible  of  lovers  is 
supersensitive ;  and,  having  tried  twice  to  see  Rose, 
only  to  be  told  that  she  no  longer  wished  to  see  him, 
Philip  felt  that  the  situation  had  passed  out  of  his 
hands.  The  thing  that  hurt  most  was  the  elaborate 
hint  that  Em  had  given  about  another  man.  Philip 
spent  many  miserable  moments  that  should  have  been 
devoted  to  his  Installation  sermon,  in  trying  to  picture 
this  very  imaginary  man.  His  day  dreams  became 
nightmares  that  always  ended  in  a  resolve  to  "have  it 
out  with  Rose." 

But  this  was  not  so  easy.  For  Em  stood  guard  over 
Rose,  in  true  Gorgon  fashion.  She  seemed  an  ani 
mated  "No  Trespass"  sign. 

It  was  unavoidable  that  the  two  young  people  should 
meet  often  at  this  time,  for  the  minister  was  con 
sulted  by  each  and  every  member  of  each  and  every 
committee  and  had  to  give  his  opinion  on  everything 
from  music  to  marmalade;  so  of  course  he  was  called 
in  occasionally  to  hear  the  girl's  chorus  sing. 

But  Rose  had  herself  well  in  hand,  and  nothing 
happened  to  make  her  devoted  followers  suspect  that 
she  had  a  thought  except  for  them  and  their  singing. 


164         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

And  indeed  to  Philip  it  seemed  that  she  had  not;  for 
by  great  strength  of  mind,  she  forced  herself  into  the 
work,  heart  and  soul. 

And  always,  there  was  Em !  Over  and  over  again, 
Philip  tried  to  get  a  word  alone  with  Rose — only  to 
see  the  spinster's  carroty  head  bob  up  between  them 
with  invariable  regularity.  It  made  no  difference 
whether  she  happened  to  be  in  the  room  or  not.  She 
seemed  to  know,  intuitively,  whenever  there  was  a 
chance  of  their  being  together  for  a  moment,  and  she 
dropped  whatever  she  might  be  doing,  and  "flew  to 
the  rescue" — as  she  would  have  put  it, — determined 
that  Rose  should  not  be  "harrowed  up  by  a  traitor  who 
had  given  his  own  heart  to  another." 

Thus  Em,  with  the  kindest  intentions  in  the  world, 
gathered  up  the  strands  that  lay  side  by  side  in  the 
skein  of  fate — gathered  them  into  her  loving,  bony 
little  fist  and  snarled  them  tightly  into  a  hopeless 
tangle. 


CHAPTER  XV 

DANNY 

So  the  busy  weeks  flew  by,  and  the  time  for  the 
Installation  was  close  at  hand.  It  was  June,  and 
South  Wilbr'm  was  in  its  fullest  bloom  of  beauty. 

The  Village  Green  lay  like  a  soft  velvet  carpet,  sur 
rounded  by  the  quaint,  old  white  houses  and  quainter 
church. 

Everywhere  the  ancient  elms  and  maples  (whose 
like  one  finds  nowhere  but  in  New  England)  cast  their 
graceful  shadows.  All  the  lawns  were  neatly  trimmed 
and  the  old-fashioned  gardens  were  full  of  flowers 
and  shrubs.  The  air  was  sweet  with  summer  sounds, 
and  there  were  robins  and  orioles  everywhere,  hold 
ing  Examinations  and  Installations  of  their  own 
among  the  trees. 

The  town  lay  like  a  veritable  jewel  in  its  surround 
ing  setting  of  dark-green  mountains  shading  to  purple ; 
while  at  their  base  the  little  river  gleamed  here  and 
there,  to  disappear  again  and  again  as  it  wound  its 
way  through  the  invisible  gaps  in  the  mountain  chain. 

It  was  the  evening  before  Installation  Day.  And 
165 


i66        THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

as  Philip  sat  at  the  window  of  the  parsonage  study 
looking  out  over  the  peaceful  scene,  his  thoughts  were 
full  of  the  morrow.  Everything  was  done.  There  re 
mained  but  the  ceremony  of  one  day,  and  he  would  be 
fully  launched  on  the  sea  of  life. 

Then  he  fell  to  musing  on  the  loveliness  of  Rose. 
The  evening  before  he  had  spent  hours  over  a  letter 
to  her;  he  had  taken  the  plunge,  and  written  his  heart 
out,  urging  her  to  marry  him  as  soon  as  he  should  be 
installed — ignoring  the  vision  of  "another  man"  that 
Em  had  invoked.  It  was  such  a  letter  as  sweeps  the 
slate  clean  and  leaves  no  chance  for  misunderstand 
ings.  He  had  posted  it  the  same  night  and  felt  that 
Rose  would  surely  send  her  answer  by  the  evening 
mail.  He  was  really  happy  for  the  first  time  in 
weeks.  It  seemed  as  if  God  were  too  good  to  him 
in  every  way.  He  vowed  humbly  to  be  worthy  of  all 
the  great  trust  imparted  to  him;  and  his  face  shone 
with  uplifted  happiness  and  splendid  purpose,  as  he 
sat  there  in  the  evening  light,  his  elbow  leaning  on 
the  window  sill,  his  head  supported  by  his  hand. 

Presently  the  soft  tinkle  of  bells  was  heard  and  the 
sound  of  a  childish  voice  calling — "Boss,  boss,  go  on 
boss!" 

Across  the  bridge  and  along  the  road  at  the  far 
end  of  the  Green  came  Deacon  Cone's  cows  returning 


DANNY  167 

from  their  mountain  pasture,  and  driven  by  Danny 
Warren  who  was  earning  the  money  for  a  bicycle  by 
driving  them  to  pasture  each  morning  and  going  for 
them  every  evening. 

As  Philip  watched  the  straggling,  uneven  proces 
sion,  Danny  detached  himself  from  the  group  for  a 
moment  and  ran  up  the  Post  Office  steps  as  fast  as 
his  bare  little  legs  would  carry  him. 

The  cows  took  advantage  of  his  momentary  ab 
sence  to  stop  and  browse  on  the  Green;  and  a  beau 
tiful  picture  they  made,  in  the  slanting  sunlight  as  it 
lay  between  long  shadows  on  the  grass. 

A  few  minutes  later  Danny  emerged  from  the  door 
way,  holding  in  one  hand  a  paper  bag.  Candy  in  the 
hand  is  worth  ever  so  many  bicycles  in  the  bush. 

Philip,  knowing  of  the  intended  purchase  of  the 
bicycle,  smiled  to  himself  as  he  watched  the  small 
boy. 

Danny  shouted  lustily  to  his  cows,  and  soon  they 
were  all  going  up  the  opposite  hill  to  the  Cone  home 
stead.  Already  they  had  passed  from  the  minister's 
sight,  and  only  the  faint  tinkle  of  the  cow-bell  was 
heard. 

The  sun  sank  lower,  and  the  breeze  died  down. 
People  began  going  by,  and  turning  their  steps  toward 
the  Post  Office  from  all  directions;  so  Philip  knew 


168         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

it  must  be  mail  time.  He  waited  until  he  saw  the 
stage  come  clattering  down  the  street,  saw  the  pas 
sengers  (there  were  only  three,  all  men)  alight,  and 
the  Postmaster  and  his  boy  come  out  after  the  mail 
bags. 

Then  he  started  for  the  Post  Office,  with  a  thump 
ing  heart. 

Mr.  Howlett  often  eyed  him  inquisitively;  longing, 
doubtless,  to  say  something  in  the  line  of  repartee  in 
answer  to  Mr.  Eden's  daily  requests  for  mail.  But 
he  stood  a  little  in  awe  of  "The  Parson/'  as  he 
called  him,  and  so  had  contented  himself  with  looking 
what  he  dared  not  say. 

To-night,  however,  he  could  not  refrain  from  re 
marking  : 

"There  ain't  nothin'  for  you  but  my  sympathy  this 
evenin',  Parson.  I'm  afraid  she's  gone  back  on  you! 
Here's  just  a  taown  letter!" 

The  Postmaster  meant  Lois  when  he  said  "she" — 
for  Lois  had  written  repeatedly  to  Philip  since  her 
return  to  college. 

The  Minister  smiled  pleasantly. 

"Just  a  town  letter?"  he  questioned,  though  his  hand 
trembled  as  he  took  the  envelope  held  out  to  him. 
"Thank  you,  Mr.  Howlett.  A  lovely  evening,  isn't  it? 
Good-night!" 


DANNY  169 

The  Postmaster  gazed  about  the  crowd  of  mail- 
seekers  with  round  eyes  of  astonishment. 

"I  tell  ye,  he's  game,  now,  ain't  he?  You  can't  get 
a  rise  out  o'  him,  nohow !  I'm  kind  o'  sorry  I  spoke. 
I  just  wanted  to  see  what  he'd  say.  Wai,  he  gets  my 
vote,  an'  I  hope  he  wins  aout  to-morrow  at  the 
Caountsil !" 

Philip  started  home  across  the  Green,  rather  than 
by  the  sidewalk.  He  wanted  to  feel  the  soft  grass 
under  his  feet,  and  also  he  wanted  to  avoid  having 
to  stop  and  speak  to  people. 

The  "town  letter"  was  not  from  Rose,  after  all.  It 
was  just  an  unimportant,  unsealed  notice  of  some 
sort. 

Somehow,  everything  seemed  changed  since  he 
found  there  was  no  word  from  Rose.  She  seemed 
miles  away  from  him,  and,  apparently,  there  was  no 
way  to  reach  her.  There  was  not  a  chance  of  his 
own  letter  having  gone  astray,  he  reasoned.  Even 
the  curiosity  of  Matthias  Hewlett  was  powerless  to 
upset  the  very  simple  postal  system  of  South  Wilbr'm. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  culprit  was  not  Hewlett, 
but  Danny.  That  morning,  Philip's  letter  had  been 
handed  to  the  boy  with  one  or  two  others.  He  had 
trotted  home  with  them  all ;  and,  as  usual,  had  looked 
into  the  kitchen  window  intending  to  give  them  to 


170         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

Em  or  Rose  if  either  chanced  to  be  in  the  kitchen. 

The  room  was  empty.  He  wished  to  stay  out  of 
doors,  to  play;  so  he  stopped  a  moment,  and  idly 
dangled  the  letters  up  and  down  on  the  windowsill 
while  he  waited  for  some  one  to  appear,  to  relieve 
him  of  them. 

Suddenly,  one  of  them  slipped  through  a  crack  be 
tween  the  wall  and  the  windowsill,  and  dropped  out 
of  sight.  Danny  fished  for  it  with  his  finger-nail,  then 
with  a  pin;  but  it  was  gone — forever.  Danny  knew 
that  mail  must  never  be  played  with — Aunt  Em  was 
always  most  strict  about  that.  He  grew  cold  along 
the  spine.  Then  he  decided  that  since  the  letter  was 
gone  where  it  could  never  be  recovered,  there  was  no 
possible  harm  in  saying  nothing  at  all  about  it, — for  a 
little  while  anyway.  And,  then,  later,  not  being  much 
more  than  a  baby,  after  all,  he  forgot  about  it. 

Philip  felt  very  much  alone,  just  now;  there  would 
be  no  one  of  his  own  with  him  during  his  ordeal,  and 
he  had  counted  so  on  this  letter!  He  had  counted 
so  on  Rose !  He  did  not  realize  quite  how  much,  until 
he  had  taken  the  plunge  and  asked  her  to  marry  him 
— asked  her  while  his  Installation  was  still  a  matter 
of  probability  rather  than  certainty.  It  was  a  rash 
thing  to  do,  he  now  told  himself — a  foolish,  rash 
thing.  Yet — Rose  was  so  different  from  any  one  else ! 


DANNY  171 

She  had  always  understood,  so  wonderfully!  And 
he  needed  her  so,  just  now !  Why  hadn't  she  written  ? 
What  was  the  matter?  It  was  not  in  the  least  like 
Rose  to  leave  a  fellow  in  the  lurch!  Well,  he  must 
stand  alone. 

His  sister,  (his  only  living  relative)  as  Dean  of 
her  college,  must  stay  on  duty — for  it  was  Commence 
ment  Week.  So  she  must  miss  Philip's  Installation, 
much  as  she  would  have  loved  to  be  with  him.  Never 
had  the  boy  felt  quite  so  alone!  Never  had  he  so 
wanted  Rose!  Why  hadn't  she  answered  his  letter? 

Just  then  there  was  the  sound  of  joyous  and  vigor 
ous  singing,  and  the  thread-bare  and  time-worn  strains 
• — "She  is  Gone  and  Lost  Forever,  Oh  My  Darling 
Clementine,"  were  wafted  to  him  from  three  wagon 
loads  of  singers  coming  through  the  village  from  the 
east. 

They  "were  the  young  people  of  Philip's  congrega 
tion,  who  had  been  off  all  the  afternoon  gathering 
mountain  laurel,  fir  trees,  wild  clematis  and  every  sort 
of  decoration  they  could  find;  wherewith  to  trim  the 
church,  in  his  honor.  He  had  begged  to  go  with  them, 
but  had  been  ordered,  peremptorily,  to  "save  his 
strength  for  what  was  before  him,"  so  had  given  in 
to  the  majority  and  stayed  at  home. 

His  "Young  Men's  Class"  and  the  girls  of  Rose's 


THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

chorus  made  up  the  party,  and  Charles  Reuben  Isham 
drove  the  first  load,  having  borrowed  his  sister's  big 
hay  wagon. 

From  the  top  of  the  chariot,  Rose  Warren,  a 
gorgeous  color  in  her  cheeks,  waved  Philip  a  salute 
and  called  in  a  voice  that  she  sought  to  make  very 
gay  and  very  natural: 

"Come  back  to  the  church  with  us  and  help  unload 
the  trees !" 

Philip  instantly  decided  that  Rose  could  not  have 
received  his  letter.  He  seized  upon  the  chance  of 
getting  a  word  alone  with  the  girl,  and  so  accepted  the 
invitation  to  ride.  But  Charles  Reuben  spoiled  every 
thing  by  amiably  moving  along  and  offering  the  min 
ister  a  seat — which  Philip  could  not  well  refuse,  as  it 
was  the  only  vacant  spot. 

Needless  to  say,  Rose  was  at  the  other  end  of  the 
wagon,  surrounded  by  several  adorers,  who  kept  her 
quite  busy. 

For  the  moment,  Philip's  loneliness  almost  left  him, 
in  the  general  spirit  of  youthful  buoyancy  all  about. 

Presently,  Charles  Reuben  cried  "Whoa,"  and  the 
jolly  party  tumbled  down  from  the  wagon  and  into 
the  church,  carrying  armfuls  of  flowers  as  they  went. 
They  were  met  at  the  church  door  by  Mrs.  Sessions, 
Em,  and  Experience  Lee.  Every  time  Philip  tried  to 


DANNY  173 

get  a  word  with  Rose,  Em  bounced  up  from  nowhere 
and  drifted  between  them. 

Later,  when  the  auditorium  had  been  turned  into  a 
bower  of  green,  studded  everywhere  with  the  star-like 
blossoms  of  delicate  pink  laurel,  and  the  young  people 
had  stood  for  some  time  at  the  back  of  the  church, 
admiring  the  fruit  of  their  united  labors,  Philip  made 
another  attempt.  Leaning  across  Em,  he  said  to  Rose : 

"You're  such  a  wonderful  little  girl !  Do  you  know 
when  you  called  me  to  come  and  help,  I  was  in  a 
dismal  fit  of  the  blues — and  now  you've  chased  all 
my  bogies  away!  You're  such  a  bundle  of  happiness 
yourself  that  one  couldn't  be  in  the  same  room  with 
you  and  stay  gloomy.  Really,  I  felt  awfully  forlorn 
and  deserted,  till  I  got  in  here,  at  work  with  all  you 
people." 

"Did  you?"  said  Rose  smiling  up  at  him  with  a 
shy  look  of  trouble  in  her  soft  eyes.  "I'm  so  glad  it 
worked !  For,  really,  you  know,  you  had  'blues'  written 
all  over  your  face  when  we  met  you,  and  that  is  why 
I  asked  you  to  help.  I  hoped  you'd  forget  to  be  lonely 
when  you  saw  how  pretty  the  church  was  going  to 
look.  Of  course,  I  knew  all  the  mothers  and  grand 
mothers  had  forbidden  us  to  let  you  have  anything  to 
do  with  the  church  decorations;  but  there's  nothing 
like  work  to  scare  away  the  blues,  I  think." 


174         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

"Speaking  of  blues,"  Philip  said  abruptly,  "Did  you 
get  a  let—" 

"You're  tactful  enough  and  clever  enough  to  carry 
your  husband  through  a  political  campaign,"  put  in 
Mrs.  Sessions,  not  hearing  Philip,  "and  you've  the 
conscience  to  keep  him  honest,  too.  One  of  these  days 
you  certainly  ought  to  marry  a  politician — " 

"Or  a  minister!"  suddenly  interrupted  Em,  and 
then  could  have  bitten  her  tongue  out  with  chagrin 
and  vexation.  Her  habit  of  saying  exactly  what  she 
thought,  was  too  strong  for  her. 

There  was  a  dead  silence  for  several  seconds,  while 
Em's  face  turned  the  color  of  a  ripe  tomato,  in  her 
distress.  And  Philip  realized  another  chance  was 
gone. 

Rose,  although  her  heart  stood  still  at  Em's  unlucky 
speech,  proved  her  right  to  Mrs.  Sessions'  compli 
ment,  by  saying  naturally: 

"Aunt  Em  has  picked  out  a  red-haired  missionary 
with  fourteen  grown  children  as  my  proper  partner 
in  life.  He  is  to  live  in  the  Sandwich  Islands,  and 
I  am  to  keep  house,  and  clothe  the  red-haired  one  and 
the  fourteen  children.  I  suppose  you  think  she  means 
us  to  eat  the  cannibals — "here  there  was  a  general 
laugh,  and  Em's  speech  was  forgotten — "but  I  assure 
you  that's  not  Aunty's  idea  at  all !  She  thinks  I'd  be 


DANNY  175 

able  to  manage  the  cannibals  externally  and  keep  the 
missionary  and  his  fourteen  hopeful  ones  from  any 
danger  of  coming  to  grief  at  the  jaws  of  ravenous, 
man-eating  heathen — so  you  see  her  ideas  of  my  tact 
go  ahead  of  yours,  Mrs.  Sessions.  Instead  of  its  being 
a  matter  of  mere  politics  it  becomes  an  international 
affair.  But  do  you  think  it  necessary  that  the  mission 
ary  should  have  red  hair?  Aunty  thinks  he  cannot  be 
a  perfectly  good  one,  without !" 

"I  protest  against  the  red  hair  and  against  your 
being  wasted  upon  mere  cannibals!"  said  Mrs.  Ses 
sions.  "Why  cannibals,  Em  ?" 

Em's  face  gradually  had  returned  to  its  normal 
color,  and,  to  all  seeming,  she  was  quite  calm  again, 
though  she  would  never  be  able  to  forgive  herself 
for  the  tactless  display  of  her  real  thought  at  such  an 
inopportune  moment. 

"Wai,  cannibals  is  cannibals,  o'  course,"  she  said 
in  her  usual  sharp  voice.  "Nobody's  a-goin'  to  deny 
that!  But  Rosie  here  can  twist  anybody  around  her 
littlest  finger,  and  not  hurt  their  feelin's.  I  ain't 
lived  with  her  this  long,  not  to  find  that  out.  And 
when  it  comes  to  cannibals,  she'd  certainly  be  able  to 
persuade  'em  all  inside  o'  five  minutes  of  her  landin* 
on  their  shores  that  missionary  meat  wa'n't  good  for 
their  digestions,  an'  inside  of  an  hour  she'd  have  'em 


176         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

eatin'  breakfast  foods  an'  such,  an'  by  the  next  day 
they'd  have  forgot  the  taste  of  human  flesh  and  never 
want  any  thin'  more,  so  long's  they  had  Rosie  to  take 
care  of  'em.  If  you  don't  believe  it,  look  at  me!"  Em 
exclaimed  dramatically. 

Every  one  turned  quickly,  with  a  sort  of  start,  as  if 
half  expecting  to  see  signs  of  latent  cannibalism  in  her; 
but  she  appeared  quite  as  usual,  and  went  on: 

"Could  any  one  ever  persuade  me  to  open  the  win 
dow  blinds  in  my  best  room  till  Rose  came?  No! 
Could  any  one  persuade  me  to  litter  up  my  front  porch 
with  cushions  and  hammocks  an'  hangin'  plants  an' 
mats  an'  such  geegaws,  till  Rosie  made  me  do  it?  No ! 
Could  any  one  else  make  me  dress  up  in  my  second  best 
dress  and  set  out  on  that  porch  an'  do  my  sewin',  most 
every  afternoon,  like  a  lazy  good-f or-nothin' ?  No, 
sir !  An'  the  worst  of  it  is,  I  like  it — I  freely  confess 
I  like  it,  an'  I'm  happier  for  it — an'  if  I  remember  my 
plain,  shiny  old  piazza  and  my  gloomy  old  dark  best 
room  as  it  used  to  be,  at  all,  it's  only  to  be  thankful 
that  Rose  came  into  it  and  brightened  it  all  up  for  me, 
like  she  brightens  up  everything  with  her  sweet  self! 
So — if  she  can  do  all  this  with  a  hardened  crotchety 
old  maid  like  me,  cannibals  even  ain't  too  much  of  a 
task  for  her!  Now,  you  see  my  point!  She'd  come 
sailin'  back  to  America  before  a  year  was  out,  with 


DANNY  177 

a  string  of  cannibals  as  tame  as  pet  cats,  and  most 
likely  with  big  pussy-cat  bows  of  ribbon  around  their 
necks  and  a  peaceful,  heathen  smile  on  their  faces — 
as  proud  of  their  captivity  as  I  am  o'  mine!" 

By  this  time  they  had  all  gradually  gotten  them 
selves  out  of  the  church,  and  stood  around  waiting  to 
say  good-by  as  Em  finished.  There  was  a  little  more 
merriment  over  her  tirade,  and  the  party  broke  up. 

Em  seized  Rose  almost  roughly  by  the  arm  and 
fairly  pushed  her  away  from  Philip's  proximity. 

"Two's  company — three's  none,"  she  snapped,  as  he 
took  a  step  beside  Rose. 

"Aunty!"  Rose  murmured,  rebelliously,  dropping 
her  eyes  in  hurt  embarrassment.  But  Philip  did  not 
hear  her — he  saw  only  that  she  avoided  his  gaze,  and 
he  did  not  persist. 

"My  precious  child,"  said  Em  in  a  broken  voice,  as 
they  turned  into  their  own  yard,  "you  are  dearer  to 
me  than  anything  on  earth — you  know  I  wouldn't 
hurt  you  for  worlds!" 

"I  know,"  said  Rose  quietly,  putting  her  hand  in 
Em's — "Just  look  at  our  roses!  All  those  buds  have 
come  out  this  afternoon !"  And  that  was  all  that  was 
said  about  it. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE    ORDEAL 

IT  wanted  but  five  minutes  to  the  time  set  for  the 
long-talked-of  Examination.  It  was  twenty-five  min 
utes  after  three  o'clock,  and  the  Council,  made  up  for 
the  most  part  of  rural  clergymen  round  about,  were 
all  in  their  places  in  the  front  pews  of  the  church ;  the 
Moderator  facing  them  and  in  the  center  of  the  plat 
form,  with  Eden  on  his  right,  also  facing  the  Council 
and  his  anxious  and  excited  congregation. 

The  little  church  was  packed  with  the  faithful  fol 
lowers  and  friends  of  the  young  minister,  and  the  hush 
was  noticeable,  for  it  meant  that  all  were  too  excited 
even  to  whisper  to  one  another. 

Philip  was  very  white,  but  sat  calmly  enough  in  the 
chair  allotted  to  him. 

"He  looks  like  a  lamb  led  to  the  slaughter,"  thought 
Em;  but  she  could  not  have  uttered  a  word  aloud  to 
save  her  soul.  "I  hope  they  won't  keep  the  poor  boy 
a-waitin'  long,"  she  ruminated  nervously,  as  she  turned 
her  head  back  to  look  at  the  clock.  What  was  her 
amazement  to  see  Lois  Sessions  tiptoeing  in  through 

178 


THE  ORDEAL  179 

one  of  the  doorways.  She  was  in  traveling  costume 
and  decidedly  dusty;  and  her  hair  was  blown  about 
her  face  in  quite  an  unnatural  manner;  but  she  was  as 
handsome  as  usual  and  even  more  haughty. 

Her  look,  however,  was  panic-stricken,  Em  thought, 
in  the  brief  glimpse  she  had  of  her  before  the  girl 
knew  that  she  was  observed.  Then  Lois  found  a  seat 
at  the  back  of  the  church  and  sank  into  it,  and  out 
of  the  glare  of  Em's  burning  eyes. 

"What  can  have  brought  her  home  in  that  shape?'* 
Em  questioned  to  herself.  Then,  "Why!  There  ain't 
no  train — sure  as  fate,  there  ain't  a  train  to  East  Long- 
meadow  at  this  hour  of  the  day!  How  did  she  ever 
get  out  here  from  Springfield?" 

As  Em  was  puzzling  over  this  last  thought,  the 
Moderator  rose  and  called  the  meeting  to  order. 

He  was  a  short,  roly-poly  man,  of  great  dignity; 
and  of  considerable  eminence  in  the  city  he  came 
from. 

The  congregation  took  a  keen  glance  at  him,  and 
instantly  decided  that  they  liked  him.  He  looked  as 
if  he  would  be  favorable  to  Mr.  Eden,  they  thought. 

Meanwhile,  a  glint  of  surprise  had  come  into  the 
Minister's  face  at  Lois'  unexpected  entrance. 

Then  his  attention  also  was  caught  and  held  by  the 
rising  of  the  Moderator. 


i8o         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

At  the  opening  of  the  meeting,  there  was  a  brief 
prayer.  After  which,  Philip  was  asked  to  rise,  and 
the  questioning  began.  At  first  everything  went  eas 
ily.  The  young  candidate  answered  the  questions  put 
to  him,  readily  and  without  embarrassment.  His  con 
gregation  felt  their  hearts  swell  with  pride  at  his 
brilliant  showing. 

The  ecclesiastical  brethren  in  the  front  pews  nodded 
their  heads  frequently,  in  approbation.  The  Mod 
erator  was  openly  pleased  with  the  new  candidate  for 
the  Ministry.  He  had  a  son  of  his  own  in  a  Theologi 
cal  Seminary,  and  felt  that  he  would  be  perfectly 
satisfied  if  he  could  know  that  his  boy  would  make 
an  equally  good  showing. 

As  the  examination  went  on  Em,  who  had  been 
sitting  bolt  upright  and  breathless,  from  the  first  word 
that  was  uttered,  gradually  leaned  back  as  her  pent- 
up  anxiety  relaxed,  and  a  feeling  of  security  and  of 
intellectual  enjoyment  took  its  place.  Finally  her  sharp 
shoulder-blades  touched  the  back  of  the  pew  and  she 
unfurled  her  best  black  fan,  prepared  to  have  a  good 
time  for  the  rest  of  the  afternoon. 

Suddenly  the  movement  of  the  fan  was  arrested  in 
mid-air.  Em  shot  forward  into  her  former  position, 
her  eyes  and  one  of  her  large  ears  trained  on  an  old 


THE  ORDEAL  181 

clergyman  from  a  nearby  village,  who  was  speaking 
to  the  Moderator  in  a  slow,1  dry,  crusty  voice. 

"Our  young  brother  has  answered  all  questions  put 
to  him  with  surprising  lucidity  and  directness,"  (he 
was  saying),  "and  I  am  sure  we  are  all  pleased  with 
his  understanding  of  the  teachings  of  Holy  Scriptures 
— thus  far — but  there  are  a  few  points  that  I  should 
like  to  satisfy  myself  in  regard  to,  if  I  may  be  al 
lowed  to  do  so,  Mr.  Moderator?" 

"Certainly,  Mr.  Harris,"  returned  the  Moderator. 
After  which  Mr.  Harris,  his  face  all  twisted  into 
knots  and  wrinkles,  turned  to  Mr.  Eden  with  an 
acid  smile  which  gave  his  countenance  a  look  almost 
of  pain. 

"Now,  then!  Now,  then!  My  dear  brother  in 
Christianity — Do  you  or  do  you  not  believe  in  Infant 
Damnation  ?" 

"I  do  not,  sir!"  answered  Philip. 

Mr.  Harris  leaned  forward  like  a  gnarled  tree  bent 
by  the  wind,  his  hand  to  his  ear — "Did  I  understand 
you  to  say  that  you  do  not  believe  in  John  Calvin's 
doctrine  that  Hell  is  paved  with  the  skulls  of  unbap- 
tized  infants?" 

"Yes,  sir — I  do  not  believe  in  any  such  ungodlike 
thing!"  answered  Mr.  Eden  vehemently. 


i82         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

Old  Mr.  Harris  gazed  about  him  with  a  horrified 
air,  and  went  on — "Will  you  kindly  explain  why  you 
do  not  believe  one  of  the  oldest  tenets  of  the  Estab 
lished  Protestant  Church?" 

"Because,"  said  Mr.  Eden,  flushing,  "I  believe  God 
to  be  a  God  of  love,  a  God  who  would  condemn  no 
one  unheard,  however  wicked  he  might  be — and  cer 
tainly  not  an  innocent  little  child  who  had  not  lived 
long  enough  to  commit  any  wrong  whatever !" 

"Are  you  aware,  young  sir,  that  you  differ  with 
many  men  greater  and  wiser  than  yourself,  in  thus 
taking  a  stand  of  unbelief — " 

A  rap  on  the  table  from  the  Moderator  stopped  Mr. 
Harris  in  the  middle  of  his  sentence,  as  the  former 
rose  hastily  and  said : 

"The  candidate  has  answered  your  question  regard 
ing  his  belief.  His  differing  with  greater  or  lesser 
men  really  has  no  bearing  on  the  subject  at  hand. 
May  I  request  that  you  proceed  to  your  next  question, 
Mr.  Harris?" 

"As  you  wish,  Mr.  Moderator,"  answered  the  old 
clergyman,  with  a  light  of  anger  in  his  eye.  Once 
more  he  turned  toward  his  victim. 

"Since  you  have  expressed  yourself  so  freely  against 
Infant  Damnation,  will  you  kindly  give  your  opinion 
of  the  doctrine  of  Fore-Ordination,  regarding  all  souls 


THE  ORDEAL  183 

born  into  this  sinful  world  ?  Do  you  believe  us  to  be 
fore-ordained  for  good  and  evil?" 

"I  do  not  so  believe,"  said  Mr.  Eden  resolutely.  "I 
cannot  believe  any  such  narrow  doctrine.  For,  in  such 
a  case,  there  would  be  no  object  in  our  striving  toward 
goodness.  Christ  would  have  died  in  vain — instead 
of  which,  we  are  told,  and  I  believe,  that  He  died  to 
save  sinners."  Then,  reading  augmented  disapproval 
in  his  antagonist's  face — "These  questions  were  never 
brought  up  to  me  before — and  I  did  not  know  that 
any  one  believed  such  things,  nowadays!"  the  boy 
concluded  in  a  hesitating  way,  his  face  growing 
white. 

"May  I  ask  what  you  do  believe  in,  Mr.  Eden?" 
went  on  the  acid  voice.  "The  foundation  of  your 
theological  education  seems  to  be  wwbelief,  to  judge 
from  your  own  confession." 

"I  believe  in  God  the  Father,  Maker  of  Heaven  and 
Earth.  I  believe  Him  to  be  a  God  of  Love — I  believe 
that  for  that  reason,  alone,  he  sacrificed  His  Son  for 
us — to  save  us  from  the  tortures  of  our  sins.  I  be 
lieve  Him  to  be  a  just,  merciful  Father — slow  to  anger 
and  plenteous  in  mercy." 

"Do  you  believe  in  the  Trinity?" 

"I  do,"  answered  the  candidate.  "I  believe  in  the 
Father,  the  Son  and  the  Holy  Ghost." 


1 84         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  it — "  retorted  Mr.  Harris  with  a 
sour  smile,  rather  put  out  to  find  his  victim  so  ready 
in  spite  of  his  badgering. 

"Do  you  believe  in  the  inspiration  of  the  Holy 
Scriptures?" 

"I  do,"  answered  Philip  firmly. 

"Do  you  not  believe,  with  the  Reverend  Jonathan 
Edwards,  that  the  righteous  in  Glory  should  feel  un 
mixed  joy  at  sight  of  the  sufferings  of  the  damned?" 
fairly  shouted  Mr.  Harris  in  his  enthusiasm. 

"I  do  not!"  declared  Mr.  Eden.  "I  think  that  God 
in  His  justice  would  not  allow  such  a  shameful  con 
dition  of  things  in  the  Spiritual  World.  A  thing  like 
that  would  make  the  Saints  all  over  into  Pharisees 
in  no  time.  A  God  who  gives  us  strength  to  bear  the 
trials  of  this  world  would  not  surely  allow  us  to  be 
jeered  at  in  the  next,  by  those  who  happened  to  be 
more  righteous  than  we.  I  believe  that  the  Father 
will  never  forsake  us,  whatever  we  do,  or  whatever 
happens.  'Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  Valley 
of  the  Shadow  of  Death,  /  will  fear  no  evil!' "  said 
Philip,  looking  straight  out  before  him,  his  eyes  wide 
with  the  inspiration  of  his  faith. 

There  was  a  sound  of  subdued  sniffling  from  dif 
ferent  parts  of  the  church,  and  much  blowing  of  noses. 
Mr.  Harris,  himself,  was  appalled  before  the  implicit 


THE  ORDEAL  185 

trust  of  the  young  man;  but  a  moment  after  he  flung 
one  last  question,  with  his  former  zeal: 

"How  about  'Sinful  Man  in  the  hands  of  an  Angry 
God'?" 

"I  am  afraid  I  cannot  satisfy  you,  Mr.  Harris — " 
faltered  the  candidate  despairingly,  "our  points  of  view 
are  utterly  different.  I  do  not  believe  in  any  'Angry 
God.'  The  God  I  believe  in  is  He  whose  Son  said 
'Believe  on  me  and  ye  shall  be  saved — I  go  to  pre 
pare  a  place  for  you — if  it  were  not  so,  I  would  have 
told  you.'  'God  so  loved  the  world,  that  He  gave  His 
only  begotten  Son/  that  through  Him  we  might  be 
saved ! 

"It  all  seems  so  plain  to  me,"  he  finished  hopelessly, 
in  a  low  voice. 

But  Mr.  Harris  was  not  yet  through  with  him. 
"One  more  question — " 

"Mr.  Harris !"  burst  in  the  Moderator —  "This  meet 
ing  has  already  been  extended  considerably  over  the 
time  allotted  to  it.  Mr.  Eden  has  answered  all  the 
important  questions;  well,  and  to  the  point.  Person 
ally,  these  latter  questions  seem  to  me  to  have  little 
or  no  bearing  on  Theology  of  the  present  time — " 

"Pardon  me,  Mr.  Moderator,"  spoke  up  a  fussy, 
elderly  man,  "but  I  think  Brother  Harris  quite  justi 
fied  in  his  attempt  to  find  out  whether  our  young  can- 


1 86         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

didate  is  worthy  of  the  trust  we  are  trying  to  help 
him  to  undertake.  We  want  none  but  sound  men  in  the 
Pulpit.  And  Theology  of  the  present  time  is  or  ought 
to  be  Theology  of  the  ancient  time  as  well.  Pardon 
me,  Mr.  Moderator." 

At  this,  one  after  another  took  sides,  and  the  Coun 
cil  threatened  to  become  a  ministerial  riot;  till  the 
Moderator,  seeing  that  things  were  going  too  far,  ad 
journed  the  meeting.  The  Congregation  were  dis 
missed  and  the  Council  went  into  secret  session  to  de 
cide  the  young  minister's  fate. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

SUPPER   IS   KEPT   WAITING 

THE  original  plan  of  the  Entertainment  Committee 
had  been  that  after  the  Council  was  over,  Dr.  Ses 
sions,  as  leading  citizen,  was  to  take  the  visiting  clergy 
men  around  the  village,  pointing  out  the  prettiest  views, 
and  explaining  the  various  ancient  landmarks;  after 
which,  they  were  to  repair  to  the  vestry,  where  they, 
and  the  Congregation  as  well,  were  to  regale  them 
selves  with  a  gorgeous  supper,  until  half-past  seven, 
when  the  Installation  Service  was  to  begin. 

The  moment  the  secret  session  convened,  however, 
and  the  doors  were  shut  on  the  church  people,  the 
latter  hastily  gathered  outside  in  earnest  conclave  in 
which  righteous  indignation  was  a  prominent  factor. 

"There's  no  time  to  take  anybody  round  to  see  the 
sights,  Doctor,"  said  Em  with  asperity.  "Them  min 
isters  spent  so  much  time  a-keepin'  Mr.  Eden  on  the 
rack,  they'll  hev  to  go  without  their  walk — an*  it 
serves  them  right!  Old  Mr.  Harris  don't  deserve  his 
supper !" 

187 


i88         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

"No!  Nor  that  other  old  fossil  either!"  agreed 
Mrs.  Sessions.  "Do  you  think  there  is  any  chance  of 
their  failing  to  ordain  Mr.  Eden,  Doctor?" 

"Of  course  not,  Delia — Mr.  Eden  is  as  sound  as  any 
of  'em,  and  only  two  of  the  clergymen  are  old  fogies. 
Most  of  the  rest  seemed  very  favorable  from  the  start, 
and  it  was  easy  to  tell  that  the  Moderator  was  im 
pressed  by  our  Minister.  The  Moderator  is  the  big 
gest  of  the  whole  lot,  and  he  knows  a  good  man  when 
he  sees  one.  He'll  bring  him  through  all  right,  if 
there's  any  great  discussion.  I  could  see  that  from 
the  first." 

"Wai,  in  the  meantime,  how  about  our  supper?" 
shrilled  Em.  "Is  that  all  to  get  cold  and  spoilt,  just 
because  those  men  upstairs  like  to  hear  themselves 
talk?  Mr.  Harris  an'  that  other  old  critter  are  'bout 
as  much  benefit  to  the  community  as  a  last  year's 
almanac ! 

"We'd  ought  to  have  given  them  their  supper,  first. 
Then  they'd  have  felt  in  better  humor  maybe!" 

Every  one  laughed  at  Em's  vehemence.  Just  then 
Lois  Sessions,  attended  by  the  Minister,  came  up  the 
walk.  The  girl  had  beckoned  him  aside  as  he  came 
dazedly  out  of  the  church. 

The  moment  they  were  observed,  there  was  a  general 
rush  for  the  popular  young  candidate,  as  each  person 


SUPPER  IS  KEPT  WAITING  189 

hastened  to  assure  him  of  all  confidence  in  the  elec 
tion. 

"Don't  you  worry,  Mr.  Eden,"  said  Charles  Reuben, 
hovering  behind  Em  as  usual.  "They're  a-goin'  to 
elect  you  with  e-clatt — I'd  be  obliged  to  you  if  you'd 
shake  my  hand  on  it !" 

Then  every  one  else  wanted  to  shake  hands  with 
the  Minister,  and  at  once  he  became  the  center  of  a 
warm-hearted,  encouraging  crowd. 

Lois,  meanwhile,  had  stepped  up  to  her  mother  and 
was  asking  her  in  a  whisper  for  the  house  key. 

"Darling!"  exclaimed  her  mother.  "You  startled 
me  so  when  I  saw  you  coming  up  the  walk!  How 
could  you  ever  leave  College  just  now — and  how  did 
you  get  here  at  this  time  of  day?" 

"I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  later,  Mother,  if  you'll 
only  let  me  have  the  key — I  haven't  looked  in  a 
mirror  since  early  this  morning  and  I  know  I'm  a 
fright.  Do  give  me  the  key  and  let  me  run  away  be 
fore  people  begin  to  ask  questions — I'll  be  back  in  a 
few  minutes,  and  tell  you  all  about  everything,  if 
you'll  only  let  me  make  myself  decent  first !" 

Wondering,  Mrs.  Sessions  handed  the  key  to  her 
daughter  without  a  word,  and  watched  her  disappear 
down  the  street. 

"What's  happened  to  Lois,  Mis'  Sessions  ?    Ain't  bin 


THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

an'  left  College  just  when  she  was  a-goin'  to  carry  off 
all  the  palms,  has  she?"  Em  inquired  stiffly.  She 
couldn't  be  cordial  when  speaking  of  Lois,  though 
she  really  tried  hard. 

"I'm  afraid  she's  not  well — "  said  Mrs.  Sessions 
uneasily;  "she  didn't  look  a  bit  like  herself — " 

"Let's  go  down  into  the  vestry  and  see  how  the 
supper  looks!"  broke  in  Charles  Reuben's  sister  run 
ning  up  to  Mrs.  Sessions  and  Em,  a  perfect  whirl 
wind  of  pale-blue  ribbons  and  white  muslin.  "Come 
on,  let's  go  down!"  she  pleaded  in  her  sweet  affected 
lisp.  "Even  if  we  can't  eat,  we  can  sit  down  and 
companion  each  other!" 

Poor  Experience  Lee's  principal  idea  of  a  good 
time  was  having  people  "companion  each  other,"  and 
now  she  rushed  about  from  group  to  group  urging 
them  all  to  go  down  with  her  into  the  vestry. 

As  they  started  down  the  stairs,  Mrs.  Sessions  took 
the  opportunity  to  get  near  her  husband  and  whisper : 

"Did  you  know  Lois  was  home?  What  do  you 
suppose  has  happened?" 

"I  don't  think  anything  has  happened,"  whispered 
the  doctor  in  return,  "except  that  the  temptation  to 
see  Mr.  Eden  ordained,  was  too  strong  for  her  to 
keep  away  any  longer.  She  just  darted  up  to  me  and 
asked  for  the  key,  and  I  told  her  you  had  it." 


SUPPER  IS  KEPT  WAITING  191 

By  this  time  they  were  downstairs  where  a  gay 
confusion  reigned. 

People  were  rushing  around  admiring  one  table 
after  another — each  heaped  high  with  a  tempting  dis 
play  of  dainties.  There  was  a  profusion  of  flowers 
everywhere — sweet  old-fashioned  flowers,  that  trans 
formed  the  bare  vestry  with  its  long  tables  into  a 
fairy  bower,  with  a  feast  for  the  gods  in  the  midst  of 
all. 

"Oh!"  sighed  Em,  "Why  didn't  we  feed  'em  first? 
They're  all  men;  and  every  one  knows  the  way  to  a 
man's  heart!" 

Charles  Reuben  gave  her  a  tender  and  admiring 
glance,  and  murmured  fervently,  "What  a  woman!" 

A  moment  later,  Lois  came  down  the  stairs,  once 
more  immaculate,  though  still  in  her  traveling  clothes. 

The  doctor  rose  at  once  and  hurried  to  her  anx 
iously. 

"How  are  you  feeling  now,  Lois?"  he  asked.  "You 
must  be  so  dreadfully  tired !" 

"I  am  tired,"  answered  Lois,  and  she  looked  it. 

"Now,  Baby,"  said  her  father,  "it's  time  you  told 
us  all  about  everything;  your  sudden  appearance  gave 
your  mother  quite  a  turn!" 

"There's  nothing  to  tell,"  answered  Lois  with  her 
characteristic  little  laugh,  "except  that  I  broke  down 


192         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

— went  all  to  pieces — and  the  physical  director  and  the 
doctor  said  that  unless  I  gave  up  everything  and  came 
home  at  once,  I'd  be  such  a  nervous  wreck  that  they 
wouldn't  answer  for  the  consequences — so  here  I  am. 
— Everything's  over !"  with  a  pretty  gesture  of  resig 
nation. 

There  was  an  instant's  silence;  then  her  father 
said  slowly,  his  face  whitening: 

"Do  you  mean  you're  not  going  back — to  grad 
uate?" 

"Yes,  Daddy— I'm  ill—"  she  insisted— "Just  feel 
my  heart  thumping." 

She  took  her  father's  hand  ana  held  it  over  her 
heart. 

"I  should  say  it  was  thumping!"  he  said.  "I  guess 
you  need  your  old  Dad  to  take  care  of  you.  We'll 
bring  you  round  all  right,  don't  you  worry.  Just  sit 
down  though,  my  girl — don't  stand,  with  a  heart  like 
that!" 

Lois  allowed  herself  to  be  put  into  an  arm  chair, 
and  Mrs.  Sessions  and  Experience  Lee  hovered  around 
her  like  anxious  mother-hens. 

The  Doctor  rushed  home  to  get  some  sort  of  quiet 
ing  medicine  for  his  daughter's  heart. 

Lois  had  never  been  known  to  have  a  sick  day  in 
all  her  life;  and  so  sudden  a  breakdown  created  a 


SUPPER  IS  KEPT  WAITING          193 

sensation.  Em  alone  looked  skeptical.  The  Doctor's 
eyes  might  be  deceived  by  love  and  anxiety,  she 
thought;  but,  to  her,  the  expression  she  had  surprised- 
in  Lois'  face  as  she  stole  into  church  just  before  the 
Council,  spelled  fear,  not  illness. 

"How'd  you  get  out  here  in  the  middle  of  the  day, 
Lois,  if  I  may  ask?"  said  Em. 

Lois  made  no  sign  of  having  heard;  at  which  snub, 
Em  gave  a  snort  and  tossed  up  her  head,  scenting 
battle. 

"Yes,  how  did  you  get  here,  dear?"  asked  her 
mother,  trying  to  keep  the  peace. 

"I  walked." 

"Walked!"  exclaimed  several  people. 

"Yes,  walked  out  from  Springfield.  What  are  you 
all  so  astonished  about?"  she  added  scornfully.  "It's 
only  ten  miles.  That's  nothing  for  an  athlete  like 
me." 

"Humph,"  snorted  Em.  "Thought  you  was  such  an 
invalid— h'm!" 

This  last  sound  was  emitted  in  a  slow,  ruminative 
way,  as  she  gave  Lois  a  level  glance  that  said  as 
plainly  as  words,  "You  can't  fool  me,"  and  then 
quietly  turned  away  from  the  group  and  began  ar 
ranging  the  flowers  in  a  nearby  vase. 

The  color  flooded  Lois'  face  and  she  seemed  about 


194         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

to  retort;  but  evidently  thought  better  of  it.  Soon 
her  father  came  back,  bringing  the  promised  medi 
cine,  which  Lois  took  quite  meekly;  while  Em,  all  un 
noticed,  sniffed  derisively  to  herself. 

"Isn't  it  horrid  to  have  to  sit  here  and  wait  all 
this  time !"  exclaimed  Lois.  "They  surely  must  know 
by  now  what  they're  going  to  do!" 

"Every  one  is  beginning  to  look  fagged,"  said  Philip 
nervously.  "I  wish,  for  everybody's  sake,  it  were  all 
over." 

"Let's  go  back  to  the  days  of  our  childhood  and 
play  games,"  said  Rose  Warren. 

"Oh,  come  on,  let's!"  said  Danny,  at  her  heels  as 
usual. 

"Well,  dear,  you  and  Charles  Reuben  stir  the 
people  up  and  we'll  have  an  old-fashioned  spelling 
match !" 

"Splendid!"  cried  Philip.  "Let  Charles  Reuben 
choose  one  side  and  Danny  the  other !" 

Thus  appealed  to,  every  one  rose  to  the  occasion, 
and  a  spelling  match  was  soon  in  progress. 

Lois  was  not  allowed  to  stand  up  and  take  part, 
so  she  and  Mrs.  Currier  (who,  being  stone  deaf,  was 
also  debarred)  sat  and  watched  the  contest. 

Charles  Reuben  had,  of  course,  chosen  Em  at  once 
for  his  first  speller;  and  Danny  with  equal  promptness 


SUPPER  IS  KEPT  WAITING  195 

and  loyalty  had  lifted  up  his  high  little  voice  for 
Rose. 

Deacon  Cone  gave  out  the  words,  and  the  fun 
waxed  keen;  though  the  voices  were  kept  decorously 
lowered,  out  of  respect  to  the  debating  clergymen 
upstairs. 

After  a  time,  the  spelling  match  began  to  pall,  for 
every  one  was  at  heart  secretly  anxious  and  increas 
ingly  worried  at  the  over-long  delay  in  the  decision. 
However,  they  went  on  spelling  bravely,  until  Miss 
Phcebe  Bliss,  who  had  never  spelled  a  word  wrong 
in  her  life,  came  off  victorious  and  was  assisted,  smil 
ing  and  blushing,  to  her  seat. 

After  this  there  was  another  pause  and  Dr.  Ses 
sions  began  to  walk  the  floor,  while  every  one  showed 
the  strain  of  waiting.  Even  Em  was  silenced  for  a 
longer  time  than  usual,  contenting  herself  with  the 
one  remark:  "Those  men  upstairs  don't  need  a  Mod 
erator — it's  an  accelerator  they  want." 

Finally  Experience  Lee  suggested  that  the  people 
play  "Beast,  Bird  or  Fish."  A  few  joined  half-heart 
edly  in  the  time-worn  game.  Then  came  another 
dreary  stretch  of  waiting. 

"Let's — "  began  Mrs.  Sessions. 

But  she  got  no  further,  for  a  messenger  from  the 
Council  appeared,  summoning  Mr.  Eden. 


196         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

Soon  afterward,  the  measured  tread  of  ministerial 
feet  was  heard  descending  the  stairs  to  the  vestry. 

The  Council  were  escorted  to  the  table  set  apart  for 
them,  the  congregation  took  their  allotted  places  at 
the  other  tables,  and  all  sat  waiting. 

For  a  moment  there  was  tense  silence. 

Then  the  voice  of  the  Moderator  broke  the  stillness. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,  this  Council  here  assembled 
has  been  in  earnest  conclave  for  several  hours,  regard 
ing  the  election  of  our  dear  brother,  Philip  Eden,  to 
the  ministry.  It  is  with  the  deepest  regret  I  am  ob 
liged  to  tell  you  that,  as  a  Council,  agreement  could  not 
be  reached  regarding  his  eligibility.  Certain  members 
among  those  here  called  together,  have  expressed 
themselves  as  of  the  opinion  that  the  Candidate's 
theology  is  unsound — that  he  would  not  be  a  safe  per 
son  to  whom  to  intrust  a  pastoral  flock. 

"It  has  been  impossible  for  us  to  overcome  these 
objections,  although  we  have  argued  long  and  earnestly. 
Therefore,  as  our  vote  is  not  unanimous,  we  are 
forced  with  the  deepest  regret,  to  refuse  to  elect  the 
Candidate.  I  believe  this  is  all  that  there  is  to  be 
said." 

The  congregation  sat  as  if  turned  to  stone  while, 
with  a  bow,  the  Moderator  prepared  to  sit  down.  He 
was  stopped  midway,  however,  by  a  voice  from  the 


SUPPER  IS  KEPT  WAITING  197 

end  of  the  room,  and  hastily  stood  upright  again  as 
he  saw  the  mighty  form  of  Dr.  Sessions  looming 
mountain-like  far  over  the  heads  of  the  people.  The 
doctor  stood,  one  hand  resting  on  the  chair  he  had 
just  quitted. 

"Pardon  me — that  is  not  all  there  is  to  be  said," 
boomed  the  doctor's  rich  voice.  His  eyes  were  spar 
kling  with  indignation  and  his  face,  in  its  frame  of 
white  whiskers,  was  very  red. 

"Gentlemen  of  the  Council,  on  behalf  of  the  congre 
gation  of  this  church,  I  desire  to  state  with  all  respect, 
that  we,  as  a  congregation,  refuse  to  accept  the  deci 
sion  of  the  visiting  Council  regarding  our  beloved  pas 
tor,  Philip  Eden. 

"You  have  seen  fit  to  condemn  him,  simply  on  ac 
count  of  his  disbelief  in  a  few  antiquated  dogmas  that 
are,  or  soon  will  be,  entirely  out  of  date.  You  have 
not  taken  into  account  the  tremendous  force  of  his 
compelling  Faith  in  Christianity.  In  fact,  you  have 
proved,  by  your  decision,  that  you  have  not  reached, 
at  all,  a  knowledge  of  the  finer  elements  in  his  char 
acter  and  teaching.  We,  who  have  sat  regularly  under 
his  instruction,  have  this  knowledge,  and  we  protest 
against  your  superficial  condemnation. 

"We  cannot  understand  how  a  Council  of  learned 
men  could  come  to  such  a  decision  when  all  the  facts 


198         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

are  considered.  It  almost  seems  as  if  it  were  an  at 
tack  of  spite  on  the  part  of  one  or  two — the  feeble 
attempt  of  the  old  and  narrow,  to  prevent  the  progress 
of  a  young  and  broader  man.  A  little  fear  that  the 
old  may  be  superseded  by  the  young.  (A  losing  bat 
tle  that,  between  youth  and  age!) 

"Some  one  in  the  congregation  has  suggested,  not 
unreasonably,  that  it  is  a  pity  supper  was  not  served 
before  the  decision — "  (numerous  broad  smiles  and 
glances  at  Em)  "and  I  am  inclined  to  agree  with  that 
person;  our  brother  from  East  Longmeadow  might 
have  been  in  a  more  indulgent  humor,  if  he  had  known 
the  good  things  provided  for  him.  However,  it  is 
too  late  to  think  of  that  now. 

"The  congregation  of  the  church  is  prepared  to 
bring  forward  proof  of  Mr.  Eden's  eligibility,  in  the 
number  of  people  who  have  accepted  Christianity  and 
signified  their  desire  to  become  members  of  this  cnurch, 
during  his  brief  pastorate  of  less  than  six  months. 
No  iess  than  twenty-eight  people  have  turned  to  God, 
entirely  through  this  young  man's  ministrations;  and 
if  you  consider  the  small  size  of  the  town,  twenty- 
eight  is  a  large  number. 

"More  than  that,  he  has  done  wonders  with  the 
church  societies,  not  only  bracing  up  those  that  were 
instituted  before  his  coming,  but  starting  a  young 


SUPPER  IS  KEPT  WAITING  199 

men's  Bible  class  under  his  own  supervision,  that  has 
had  already  a  marked  effect  on  the  life  of  the  young 
men  of  this  parish. 

"He  is  a  born  leader  of  men,  a  natural  orator,  a 
consistent  Christian.  What  more  would  you  have? 

"His  ministry  among  the  sick  and  helpless  has  been 
unceasing — he  has  given  freely  of  himself,  always, 
sparing  neither  strength  nor  sympathy.  In  short,  he 
has  walked  in  the  footsteps  of  Christ.  And  what  fur 
ther  could  one  need  in  a  minister  of  the  Gospel? 

"If  we,  to  whom  he  ministers,  are  satisfied,  why 
should  you  be  displeased?"  (Subdued  applause  from 
the  congregation,  and  much  nodding  of  heads.)  "Did 
our  Saviour  preach  Hell  Fire  and  Damnation?  No! 
Yet  I  hope  the  learned  clergymen  do  not  question  the 
orthodoxy  of  our  Lord."  (More  vigorous  nodding 
from  the  congregation.)  "This  young  man  has  stood 
before  you  to-day;  boldly  declaring  his  faith,  like  the 
martyrs  of  old.  You  have  not  shaken  that  faith — no 
— though  you  have  scourged  him  with  the  whips  of 
your  musty  old  doctrines.  He  has  fought  a  good 
fight,  and,  I  repeat,  we  refuse  to  accept  your  decision. 
It  is  our  purpose  to  invite  another  Council — I  believe 
I  speak  for  the  whole  congregation?"  (Tremendous 
applause.)  "You  see  we  are  of  one  mind — to  invite 
another  Council.  We  shall  be  careful  whom  we  choose 


200         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

— the  biggest  men  in  the  country  are  none  too  good 
for  the  little  town  of  South  Wilbr'm.  We  made  the 
mistake,  before,  of  going  out  into  the  byways  and 
hedges — "  (with  a  glance  toward  Mr.  Harris). 
"This  time  there  will  be  no  mistake.  We  will  have  a 
Council  of  broad-minded  men,  and  Mr.  Eden  will 
undoubtedly  be  elected."  (Applause.) 

"Before  closing  I  wish  to  tender  the  sincere  thanks 
of  the  congregation  to  the  eminent  Moderator,  and 
to  all  of  the  Council  who  may  have  signified  their  wish 
to  elect  Mr.  Eden.  I  sincerely  regret  the  unhappy 
ending  to  this  long-looked- for  occasion;  but  feel  that 
the  final  act  is  not  yet  played,  and  that  all  will  be  well. 

"In  the  meantime,  the  ladies  of  the  Church,  who 
have  taken  great  pleasure  in  preparing  a  supper  for 
you,  invite  you  to  partake  of  it  without  further  delay. 
I  thank  you  for  your  indulgence,  gentlemen." 

The  doctor  sat  down  amid  thunderous  applause,  in 
which  the  Moderator  and  a  number  of  the  Council 
joined. 

Suddenly  Charles  Reuben  jumped  to  his  feet.  "A 
cheer  for  the  doctor!"  he  cried,  waving  his  high  hat. 
With  that,  there  was  a  ringing  shout — "Hurrah  for 
the  doctor !  Doctor !  Doctor !" 

"Hurray  for  Mr.  Eden!"  shouted  Em,  forgetting 
her  animosity  toward  Philip,  for  the  time. 


SUPPER  IS  KEPT  WAITING          201 

"Mr.  Eden!  Doctor!  Mr.  Eden!"  yelled  the  peo 
ple,  frantic  with  enthusiasm. 

The  young  man  had  not  come  back  after  the  Coun 
cil  had  called  him  out.  He  felt  stunned  by  the  blow 
that  had  been  dealt  him  and  had  stayed  outside  by 
himself  for  a  few  minutes;  but  Deacon  Cone  had 
slipped  upstairs  when  the  applause  began,  and  now 
appeared,  urging  him  along. 

In  the  general  uproar,  Philip  was  soon  put  at  his 
ease;  the  promise  of  another  Council  was  whispered 
in  his  ear,  and  his  spirits  rose. 

Amid  all  the  din,  old  Mr.  Harris  and  his  grizzled 
crony  sat  with  bent  shoulders  and  scowling  brows; 
looking  like  whipped  and  snarling  dogs,  and  not  dar 
ing  to  raise  their  eyes. 

Finally  the  Moderator  rapped  upon  the  table  and 
shouted : 

"Order!" 

There  was  silence  in  a  moment  and  then  he  said: 

"I  wish  to  thank  Dr.  Sessions  for  stating  the  case 
so  clearly.  He  has  come  nobly  to  his  friend's  de 
fense,  and  I  would  like  to  go  on  record  as  saying  that 
I  appreciate  his  spirit  and  the  attitude  he  has  taken. 
I  am  more  than  delighted  to  know  that  another  Coun 
cil  has  "been  decided  upon,  and  with  all  my  heart  I 
hope  and  believe  that  there  will  be  no  difficulty,  a 


202         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

second  time,  in  the  election  of  so  worthy  a  candi 
date." 

Spontaneous  applause  greeted  the  Moderator  as  he 
sat  down,  showing  that  he  was  not  included  in  the 
general  condemnation  of  the  action  of  the  Council. 

After  the  hand-clapping  subsided,  the  Moderator 
asked  a  blessing,  and  supper  was  fairly  under  way  at 
last. 

Every  one  felt  the  relief  of  tension  and  the  meal 
was  a  success  from  beginning  to  end.  In  spite  of  the 
delay,  nothing  was  spoiled,  and  the  Moderator  was 
heard  to  observe  that  he  would  always  be  glad  of  an 
excuse  to  come  to  South  Wilbr'm  if  this  was  a  sam 
ple  of  the  cooking. 

Suddenly,  Charles  Reuben  jumped  to  his  feet. 

"I  wish  to  make  an  announcement,  folks,"  he  cried. 
"It's  going  to  be  something  of  a  surprise  to  you  all; 
but  wonders  will  never  cease  on  this  'arth!  Miss 
Emma  Ufford  has  done  me  the  distinguished  honor  to 
promise  to  be  the  bride  of  the  Bard  of  the  World — " 

His  voice  was  at  once  completely  drowned  by  the 
chorus  of  delighted  screams  that  rose  on  every 
side. 

Em,  fairly  purple  in  the  face,  grabbed  Charles  Reu 
ben's  coat-tail  and  sleeve,  frantically,  and  tried  to  pull 
him  into  silence.  But  for  once  he  paid  no  attention 


SUPPER  IS  KEPT  WAITING  203 

to  her,  except  to  seize  her  bony  red  fists  and  hold 
them  firmly  in  his  own. 

"Em  doesn't  want  me  to  tell,"  he  went  on,  beam 
ingly,  "but  I'm  going  to — for  if  everybody  knows, 
then  she  can't  back  out !  She — " 

Here  he  was  interrupted  again;  but  Em's  abashed 
face  stopped  the  mirth  and  Charles  Reuben  forged 
ahead  once  more. 

"She  only  promised  me,  last  night — and  she's  been 
a-tryin'  to  make  me  have  it  a  secret  weddin',  to  avoid 
all  the  fuss  an'  talk.  But  I  ain't  ashamed  of  my  bar 
gain,  and  I  want  all  you  folks  to  know  how  happy  I 
am — an'  how  proud," — he  looked  it — "an' — an' — it 
seemed  just  a  leetle  safer  to  announce  it  before  every 
body — and  now't's  over,  I  don't  suppose  she'll  mind  so 
much — do  you, — Em?" 

He  turned  to  the  spinster  with  pathetic  appeal  in 
his  eyes,  as  he  stopped  speaking,  dropped  her  hands 
and  sat  down.  The  boldness  of  his  deed  frightened 
him. 

"Speech — speech,  Em !"  came  the  cry  on  every  side. 
"It's  your  turn,  now!" 

Em  went  rather  pale,  then  quite  red,  half  arose, 
sat  down,  was  pushed  up  again  and  then  with  a  shake 
of  her  shoulders  and  a  toss  of  her  carroty  head, 
began: 


2204         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

"Wai,  folks,  Charles  Reuben  has  certainly  let  the 
cat  out,  this  time.  But  he  needn't  to  have  thought  I'd 
go  back  on  him — 'twasn't  necessary  to  publish  our 
secret,  to  keep  me  from  goin'  back  on  my  word — I 
guess  everybody  else  here  knows  that — and  if  Charles 
Reuben  don't,  after  these  sixteen  years,  he  never  will. 

"The  truth  is,  he's  pestered  me  so  long,  I'm  all  wore 
out,  and  I  just  hed  to  agree  to  merry  him,  to  get  rid 
of  him!" 

Unheeding  the  laughter,  Em  went  right  on. 

"An'  then,  I  s'pose  I'm  kind  of  used  to  him — and 
Danny  here  thinks  he  can't  live  without  him — to  judge 
by  the  way  he's  carryin'  on  now."  Danny  had  left 
his  seat  and  was  hugging  Charles  Reuben  in  free  and 
unaffected  happiness,  much  to  the  detriment  of  the 
Bard's  collar  and  tie.  "Mebbe  we  all  needed  him 
more'n  we  thought.  There  wasn't  no  other  way," 
Em  added  in  a  softer  voice. 

"Oh,  law — I  talk  like  an  old  fool — I  guess  I  am 
one"; — with  renewed  spirit — "there's  no  fool  like  an 
old  fool — wal,  all  I  was  a-goin'  to  say  was,  that  it 
was  to  be  a  secret  weddin' — no  one  but  Rosie  (of 
course)  to  know.  It's  my  way  to  like  things  quiet. 
We  was  goin'  to  steal  off,  and  just  be  merried;  but  as 
long  as  you  all  are  in  the  secret  you  might  as  well  all 
be  there.  So  I  invite  every  one  present  to  be  at  my 


SUPPER  IS  KEPT  WAITING  205 

house  tomorrer  afternoon  at  half-past  three  o'clock 
sharp.  Now  la'ff!  We  don't  care,  so  long's  you  come 
to  the  weddin' !" 

And  laugh  they  did,  and  drank  Em's  health  in  un- 
fermented  currant  wine;  and  the  health  of  Charles 
Reuben  who  appeared  as  if  he  really  needed  it. 

Gradually,  a  look  of  beatific  happiness  overspread 
his  face,  and  he  rose  unsteadily  to  his  feet  with  one 
hand  in  his  breast  pocket  and  cleared  his  throat. 

"Ahem — ahem,"  he  began.  "I  have — er — a  little 
thing, — an  ode — that  I  wrote  about  the  Installation; 
but  as  there  isn't  going  to  be  any  Installation,  I'm 
afraid  that  won't  do — so  I'll  just  say — 

"Come  in  your  wagon 
Come  in  your  carriage 
To  see  Em  and  Charles  Reuben 
United  in  marriage!" 

At  this  every  one  rose  from  the  table,  eager  to 
shake  hands  with  Em  and  Charles  Reuben.  So  the 
evening,  which  had  threatened  to  be  such  a  failure, 
became  a  never-to-be-forgotten  jubilee. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A    WEDDING 

IT  was  the  morning-  of  Em  Ufford's  wedding  day, 
and  every  one  in  the  house  was  up,  betimes;  for, 
though  her  domain  was,  to  the  ordinary  eye,  immacu 
late  at  all  hours,  Em's* piercing  glance  was  sure  to  light 
on-  some  infinitesimal  speck  of  dust  that  no  one  else 
could  possibly  have  found;  and  the  house  to-day  was 
swept  and  garnished,  from  force  of  habit  rather  than 
because  there  was  the  slightest  need  of  it. 

The  prospective  bride  chuckled  as  she  went  about 
her  work,  thinking  of  the  bomb  Charles  Reuben  had 
cast  among  her  friends  the  evening  before  when  he 
had  announcd  their  forthcoming  marriage. 

All  at  once  she  sat  down  in  a  rocker,  her  dust- 
cloth  still  in  her  hand,  and  began  to  laugh  aloud, 
rocking  as  she  laughed. 

Rose,  polishing  silver  in  the  next  room,  heard  her 
through  the  open  door  and  came  rushing  in. 

"What's  the  matter,  Aunty?"  she  asked.  "You're 
not  having  hysterics  all  by  yourself,  are  you?" 

"Me  ?  Em  Uff ord  havin'  hysterics  ?  I  should  hope 
206 


A  WEDDING  207 

not!  But  I'm  just  as  nigh  to  it  as  I  ever  expect  to 
be,  and  all  for  thinkin'  of  the  face  of  that  poor  critter, 
Charles  Reuben,  when  he  told  the  folks  our  weddin' 
was  afoot! 

"Oh,  law !"  she  cried,  wiping  the  tears  of  mirth  from 
her  eyes  with  her  blue  checked  apron,  "there  was  only 
one  face  could  beat  it,  and  that  was  the  same  critter's 
face  when  I  said  I'd  marry  'im.  It  was  as  good's  a 
play!  I  never  saw  any  one  more  took  aback!  The 
poor  soul !  Oh,  me,"  she  gasped,  "it  was  the  best  joke 
ever  was!  Of  course  I  knew  it  had  to  come  some 
time,  so,  thinks  I,  why  not  now? 

"Wai,"  (more  seriously)  "when  once  we  get  off  on 
our  weddin'  trip — " 

"A  wedding  trip,"  exclaimed  Rose.  "Oh,  you  dear 
Aunty!  You're  just  too  delicious  for  anything! 
What  on  earth  would  you  do  with  Charles  Reuben 
on  a  wedding  trip?" 

"Just  you  wait  and  see,  dearie.  Charles  Reuben's 
been  spoilt  by  his  sister;  but  he  has  possibilities  and 
I  calculate  that  I  know  him  better'n  any  one  else  does. 
If  I  hadn't  a-known  there  was  something  to  him, 
under  all  that  poetry,  do  you  s'pose  I'd  hev  let  him 
hang  round  and  pester  me  to  death  all  these  years  ?  Em 
Ufford  may  not  be  a  beauty,  but  she's  no  fool,  if  I  do 
say  it  as  shouldn't!  An'  Charles  Reuben  ain't  any- 


2o8         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

body's  fool  either,  when  you  come  right  down  to  it. 
After  sixteen  years  trainin',  I've  got  him  just  where 
I  want  him.  An'  you'll  be  surprised  to  see  how  spry 
he'll  chop  wood,  when  he  has  a  wife  to  chop  for! 
Choppin'  wood'll  be  just  as  easy  as  his  everlastin'  whit- 
tlin',  when  he  gits  used  to  it!" 

"But,  Aunty,  where  are  you  going  on  your  trip?" 
persisted  Rose. 

"Never  you  mind!  Brides  ain't  s'posed  to  tell  all 
they  know,  beforehand!  We'll  tell  you  where  we've 
bin,  when  we  git  back.  That'll  be  time  enough  I  guess, 
won't  it,  Rosie?" 

"All  right,  Aunty,  I  won't  ask  another  question; 
if  you'll  promise  to  go  and  lie  down,  just  to  please 
me.  You  know  everything  about  the  house  looks  per 
fectly  lovely,  and  a  bride  ought  to  do  nothing  at  all  on 
her  wedding  day  but  dress  for  the  wedding.  You've 
been  working  like  a  slave,  since  sunrise!  Please, 
Aunty!"  (Gently  pushing  Em  out  of  her  chair  and 
toward  the  door.)  "And — Aunty — you  know  you 
promised  me  solemnly  that  you'd  do  your  front  hair 
up  on  crimping  irons — " 

"Wai,  I  suppose  I  must,  if  you're  a-goin'  to  put 
that  pleadin',  pathetic  tone  into  your  voice.  Why  do 
you  want  an  old  woman  to  look  more  of  a  frump 
than  she  is?" 


A  WEDDING  209* 

Rose  gave  her  a  hug,  and  kissed  the  end  of  her 
nose,  for  answer;  and  then  added: 

"Because  I  love  you  so  very,  very  much,  Aunty, . 
dear — now,  be  my  good  child  and  lie  down.    Remem 
ber,  I'm  managing  things  to-day!" 

Em  went  to  her  room  obediently,  but  sighed  as  she 
said  to  herself  : 

"The  precious  lamb  won't  be  'managing  things' 
much  longer,  unless  somethin'  happens  pretty  sudden; ; 
she's  just  nothin'  but  a  pale  little  shadder  of  herself 
— an'  what  a  lesson  she  teaches  to  us  common  clay! 
So  cheerful — so  sweet  an'  bright!  May  the  Lord 
forgive  me  if  I  feel  like  cursin'  those  that  hev  bruised 
up  her  lovin'  little  heart! 

"I  shall  keep  on  hopin'  for  the  best,  though,"  she 
soliloquized,  as  she  prepared  to  apply  the  crimping 
irons  to  her  carroty  hair.    "I  shall  keep  on  a-hopin'  an' ' 
may  be  the  Lord  will  answer  my  prayer  before  He's 
through !" 

Rose  had  borne  the  increasing  rumors  of  the  min 
ister's  engagement  to  Lois  very  bravely.  Not  even  to 
Em  had  she  said  a  word  about  it.  She  had  tried 
resolutely  to  put  her  own  troubles  aside  and  throw 
her  heart  as  well  as  her  mind  into  the  preparations  . 
for  Em's  nuptials. 

At  first,  Em's  friends  were  distressed  that  she  had 


2IO 

not  given  them  time  to  help  her  get  ready  for  the 
great  occasion;  but  she  declared  that  there  was  no 
preparation  necessary  as  she  "wouldn't  have  any 
prancin'  an'  paradin'  anyway,"  and  when  it  was  found 
that  the  gigantic  fruit  cake  Jane  Bliss  had  made  for 
the  Installation  supper  had  not  been  cut  into,  owing 
to  the  great  quantity  of  dainties  provided,  Jane  de 
clared  that  it  must  become  Em's  wedding  cake;  so 
it  was  carried  up  the  hill  to  adorn  the  center  of  the 
table ;  although  Em  protested  against  "so  much  f ussin' 
about  a  red-headed  old  maid !" 

By  the  time  the  crimping  irons  had  done  their 
destined  work  and  the  unyielding  hair  had  been  trained 
by  Rose's  skillful  little  ringers  into  wavy  locks  drawn 
back  softly  on  either  side  of  Em's  head,  people  were 
beginning  to  arrive,  downstairs,  in  obedience  to  the 
bride's  announcement  that  the  wedding  would  be  at 
"half-past  three  o'clock  sharp!" 

"Hurry,  Rosie,"  said  Em  nervously.  "Everybody's 
a-comin'  so  fast  I  don't  know's  there'll  be  chairs  enough 
in  the  the  best  room  for  'em  all  to  set  down  in.  Never 
mind  my  hair,  it'll  be  well  enough.  Do  let  me  get 
into  that  dress,  if  I  must  wear  it!"  This  last  with  the 
air  of  a  martyr.  Rose  had  insisted  that  Em  must  wear 
a  white  dress;  and  as  Em  did  not  possess  anything 
in  white  more  elaborate  than  a  dimity  morning  gown, 


A  WEDDING  211 

Miss  Phoebe  Bliss  had  offered  to  lend  her  a  white 
nun's-veiling  of  her  own,  and  although  at  first  Em  had 
stoutly  refused  to  go  to  the  altar  of  the  Lord  in  false 
garments — "As  if — "  she  said — "I  was  a-tryin'  to  pass 
'em  off  on  Him  as  my  own  when  He  knows  all  the 
time  they're  Phoebe's!  Do  let  me  be  honest  on  my 
weddin'  day !" — Rose  had  at  last  wheedled  her  into  it. 
And,  as  Em,  standing  before  the  mirror,  saw  herself 
slowly  transformed,  she  could  not  but  be  proud  at  the 
result;  although  she  admitted  it  grudgingly. 

The  cream  white  dress  had  some  of  Miss  Phoebe's 
real  lace  at  the  wrists  and  throat,  and  the  cobweblike 
meshes  fell  over  the  wearer's  work-worn  hands  and 
relieved  the  redness  of  her  face  to  such  an  extent  that, 
although  nothing  could  ever  make  her  handsome,  she 
looked  surprisingly  well. 

Finally,  when  all  was  done  and  Rose  had  pinned 
a  bunch  of  lilies  of  the  valley  on  the  front  of  the 
bride's  gown,  she  gave  Em  a  hand-glass  and  said: 
"Now  just  look  at  yourself  and  see  if  you're  not 
sweet !" 

Em  took  a  long  look  at  her  back,  then  at  each  side, 
then  at  the  front. 

It  was  as  if  she  were  trying  to  fix  the  picture  in  her 
mind,  for  future  remembrance.  Then  she  drew  a  deep 
breath  and  laid  the  hand-mirror  down. 


212         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

"Wai,  Em  Ufford,  you're  a  whited  sepulcher!"  she 
apostrophized,  "but  there's  no  deny  in'  that  you  look 
better'n  you  ever  expected  to  till  you  git  into  your 
ascension  robe.  It's  a  nice  f eelin',  anyway,  ain't  it,  old 
woman?"  (with  another  sigh).  "But,  laws  a-me!" 
(turning  briskly  away  from  the  temptations  of  van 
ity).  "Here  I  am  a-standin'  a-prinkin'  an'  tryin*  to 
imagine  I'm  a  blushin'  bride,  when  I  presume  half  the 
invited  guests  are  a-coolin'  their  heels  on  the  front  hall 
oilcloth  without  a  chair  amongst  'em.  Rose,  come 
on—  Oh!" 

While  she  had  been  admiring  herself  the  girl  had 
run  into  the  next  room  to  slip  on  her  own  frock; 
and  as  Em  called  her,  she  came  back,  such  a  vision  of 
loveliness  that  the  older  woman  involuntarily  caught 
her  breath. 

"It's  you  that  ought  to  be  the  bride,  my  pet !  You 
look  like  nothin'  but  one  of  God's  angels;  in  that  white 
muslin  dress!" 

It  was  the  first  time  Rose  had  worn  anything  but 
black  since  her  sister's  death,  and  her  ethereal  face 
looked,  as  Em  said,  positively  angelic  with  its  ex 
pression  of  calm  sweetness  and  quiet  strength.  Her 
frame  had  grown  so  slight,  that  one  felt,  somehow, 
unconscious  of  its  presence — as  if  the  face  and  the 


A  WEDDING  213 

spirit  behind  it  were  floating  in  space,  with  a  cloud 
of  diaphanous  white  below  them. 

"Give  old  Em  one  kiss,  darling — "  said  the  bride, 
half  sobbing.  "It'll  be  like  a  benediction  from 
Heaven  to  be  kissed  by  you  with  that  look  on  your 
face — an'  you  know  it's  the  last  chance  you'll 
have  to  kiss  Em  Ufford — "  (with  an  attempt  at  a 
smile). 

Rose  held  her  close  in  her  arms  for  a  moment; 
then  started  toward  the  door. 

"Now,  Aunty,  wait  till  you  hear  me  begin  the  wed 
ding  march — and  be  sure  you  keep  step  as  you  come 
in !  I'm  going  to  find  Charles  Reuben  for  you  and  see 
that  his  tie  is  all  straight.  Good-by — don't  worry, 
we've  six  minutes  yet!" 

"Oh,  Rose!"  came  a  distracted  wail  from  Em,  and 
Rose  flew  back  into  the  room. 

"Oh,  am  I  all  right?  And  do  we  lock  arms  all  the 
way  down  the  stairs,  or  only  after  we  get  into  the 
room?  I  begin  to  feel  as  if  I  couldn't  go  through  with 
it !  Would  you  take  his  left  arm  or  his  right  ?  Which 
would  you  do  ?  Oh — supposing  I  should  lose  my  voice, 
when  I  go  to  speak !" 

"You  look  just  dear,"  said  Rose  comfortingly,  "and 
I'd  take  his  arm  right  here  at  the  door  and  walk  down- 


214         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

stairs  that  way,  and  then  you  won't  have  to  think  of 
it  at  all  as  you  go  into  the  room — take  his  right  arm 
— and  you  won't  lose  your  voice,  I  know.  Just  look 
out  that  Charles  Reuben  doesn't  lose  his !"  cried  Rose, 
laughing  as  she  ran  down  the  hall  to  find  the  bride 
groom.  A  moment  after,  she  was  downstairs  greeting 
every  one  and,  with  Danny's  aid,  making  an  aisle  be 
tween  the  ranks  of  guests,  up  which  the  happy  pair 
were  to  find  their  way  to  Mr.  Colton,  the  Methodist 
minister,  stationed  with  open  book  in  hand,  in  front 
of  the  fireplace,  and  directly  under  the  picture  of  the 
weeping  willow  lady.  In  spite  of  Em's  recent  preju 
dice  against  Philip  Eden,  she  had,  strange  to  say,  been 

M 

very  anxious  to  have  him  perform  the  marriage  cere 
mony.  But  of  course  that  was  impossible,  as  he  had 
not  been  regularly  ordained;  so  Mr.  Colton  was  sum 
moned  at  the  last  moment. 

The  room  was  entirely  full,  and  the  hallway  and  the 
veranda  as  well  were  literally  packed  with  people. 
They  moved  aside,  willingly,  at  Rose's  smiling  order, 
"Make  way  for  the  bride !"  and,  everything  arranged, 
she  went  to  the  "instrument"  and  began  the  Lohengrin 
Bridal  March. 

As  the  first  note  sounded,  Em,  with  a  stony  "go 
through  with  it  or  die"  expression,  stepped  forward 
across  the  threshold  of  her  room  into  the  hall,  saying 


A  WEDDING  215 

in  a  sepulchral  voice — "Charles  Reuben — where  are 
you?" 

Obedient  to  her  call,  the  groom  appeared,  trembling 
visibly,  but  with  a  brave  smile  that  showed  a  gleam 
of  false  teeth  between  the  tense  lips. 

'Tut  your  right  foot  on  the  top  step,  Charles  Reu 
ben,"  went  on  Em's  hollow  voice.  "Now  we  start!" 

Solemnly  they  paced  down  the  stairs,  each  afraid  to 
look  at  the  other,  lest  they  get  out  of  step,  each  afraid 
to  come  down  with  anything  but  the  flat  of  the  foot, 
lest  a  stumble  should  throw  the  proceedings  out  of 
order.  The  stairs  seemed  interminable  and  the  surge 
of  faces  below  them  overwhelming;  but  at  last  they 
were  safely  down,  and  found  themselves  rapidly  ap 
proaching  Mr.  Colton. 

Charles  Reuben  had  had  no  time  to  procure  new 
clothes,  but  his  best  plaid  trousers  of  pale  gray  and 
black  were  always  a  joy  to  him,  and  he  was  resplen 
dent  in  white  kid  gloves  and  a  white  tie,  to  say  noth 
ing  of  the  boutonniere  of  lilies  of  the  valley  that  Rose 
had  pinned  on  his  coat,  just  before  she  went  down 
stairs. 

The  Bard's  hair  had  been  newly  oiled,  and  he  was 
redolent  of  "White  Rose"  perfumery ;  so  altogether  he 
almost  outshone  the  bride. 

In  a  daze  they  stopped  finally  before  Mr.  Colton, 


2i6        THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

and,  as  the  music  ceased  and  the  minister's  voice  be 
gan,  they  both  felt  as  if  just  awakened  from  a  trance. 

Em's  responses  were  characteristically  firm,  despite 
her  inward  panic;  but  when  it  was  Charles  Reuben's 
turn  to  say  "I  do,"  his  dry  throat  clicked,  and  the 
words  refused  to  come.  There  was  an  awful  pause, 
while  the  bridegroom  stood  swallowing,  trembling  like 
a  leaf. 

Then  Em  turned  on  him,  her  eyes  flashing  dark  blue 
fire: 

"Speak!  'Fraid  cat!"  she  whispered. 

"I  do,"  came  trembling  from  the  false  teeth — after 
which  the  ceremony  proceeded  to  the  end  without 
any  noticeable  hitch. 

As  soon  as  it  was  over,  Charles  Reuben  at  once 
became  himself  again  and,  all  nervousness  departed, 
.graciously  responded  to  the  congratulations  of  his 
friends,  with  his  accustomed  florid  rhetoric. 

Em,  too,  was  happy,  as  she  said : 

"Wai,  folks,  me  an'  Charles  Reuben  tried  to  see 
what  we  could  do — and  we  done  it!" 

After  every  one  had  kissed  the  bride  and  wrung  the 
hand  of  the  groom,  Experience  Lee  hopped  upon  a 
-chair,  her  ribbons  (pink  this  time)  fluttering  around 
her,  and  shouted  in  the  loudest  lisp  she  could  muster, 
*'I  vote  we  have  thome  denthin' !  A  weddin'  can't  be 


A  WEDDING  217 

a  weddin'  without  we  have  a  Virginia  reel  to  wind 
up  with !  All  handths  to  their  partnerth,  pleathe !" 

Acting  on  this  hint,  all  the  swains  made  a  dash  for 
the  girls, — young  or  old,  it  made  no  difference.  Sets 
were  formed  in  the  "front  room,"  lower  and  upper 
halls  and  veranda,  to  say  nothing  of  one  out  on  the 
lawn  just  under  the  open  window,  through  which  the 
music  was  expected  to  filter. 

While  Experience  was  helped  down  from  her  perch, 
Rose  had  gone  to  the  melodeon;  but  Em,  seeing  her 
intent,  hurriedly  left  the  side  of  her  newly  made  hus 
band,  and  blocked  the  way. 

"No,  you  don't!"  she  decreed.  "You  ain't  a-goin' 
to  set  and  play  at  my  weddin'  while  there's  others 
a-dancin',  I'd  have  you  know!  There  ain't  a-goin' 
to  be  any  dancin',  unless  you  are  right  straight  in  the 
middle  of  it,  Rosie !  In  my  day,  the  men  could  whis 
tle;  an'  they  can  now  I  guess,  just  as  well's  they  could 
then,  whistle  an'  dance  at  the  same  time.  If  that 
won't  keep  everybody's  feet  goin',  I  lose  my  guess! 
So  you  go  'long  and  have  a  good  time  with  the  rest 
of  the  young  folks!  I  mean  to,  myself.  Come  on, 
Charles  Reuben,  just  show  these  folks  what  real  whis- 
tlin'  is!" 

Thus  adjured,  Charles  Reuben  seized  Em  by  the 
arm  and  burst  into  a  lively  whistle  as  the  two  pranced 


218         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

toward  the  head  of  the  room  with  a  step  similar  to 
what  would  later  have  been  called  a  cake  walk. 

The  other  men  proved  themselves  equal  to  the  occa 
sion,  and  fell  in  with  their  chosen  partners,  keeping 
up  a  vigorous  whistling  and  clapping  of  hands  the 
while. 

Charles  Reuben  was  fairly  in  his  element  when  the 
Virginia  Reel  began,  and  went  through  the  most  won 
derful  evolutions  imaginable,  now  twisting  and  turn 
ing  his  partner  underneath  his  outstretched  arm,  now 
interpolating  fancy  steps  in  his  goings  and  comings, 
the  like  of  which  were  never  seen  before,  and  which 
kept  every  one  in  a  roar  of  laughter.     Em  allowed 
herself  to  be  buffeted  about,  and  her  face  became  redder 
and   redder   with   enjoyment   and   unusual   exercise. 
Once  she  gasped  out — "I  feel  the  floor  a-beatin',  with 
all  these  feet  treadin'  such  a  measure!    S'pose  it  was 
to  give  way!"     But  as  she  was  going  down  the  line, 
at  the  moment,  being  twisted  and  turned  by  first  one 
person,  then  the  next,  no  one  had  time  to  answer  her, 
and  when  she  arrived  panting  at  the  foot,  Charles 
Reuben  seized  her  and  swung  her  up  to  the  head 
again.     And  she  forgot  her  house  in  the  anxiety  to 
marshal  her  line  of  women  so  as  to  meet  Charles  Reu 
ben's  line  of  men  once  more  at  the  foot. 

Dr.  Sessions  had  Rose  for  a  partner.    And  their  evo- 


A  WEDDING  219 

lutions  were  almost  as  wonderful  as  Elm's  and  Charles 
Reuben's,  though  not  nearly  as  fantastic.  Doctor  was 
remarkably  light  on  his  feet  and  Rose  seemed  to 
blow  around  the  room  like  a  feather,  rather  than  really 
to  touch  the  floor  with  .her  little  feet. 

"There's  nothing  left  of  that  girl!"  said  Deacon 
Cone,  pointing  to  Rose  as  she  flitted  past  the  door 
way  where  he  and  Lois  Sessions  (who  was  forbid 
den  to  dance  on  account  of  her  heart)  watched  the 
dancing.  "She's  just  like  a  bit  of  fluff!  I'd  be  fright 
ened,  if  she  belonged  to  me!" 

"Oh,  that  kind  doesn't  die,"  whispered  Lois  scorn 
fully.  "I  don't  believe  her  heart's  in  half  so  bad  a 
state  as  mine !" 

About  this  time,  Em  declared  she  had  had  all  she 
could  stand.  So  the  reel  came  to  a  brilliant  end,  and 
every  one  rushed,  panting,  for  chairs. 

"Let's  have  a  quadrille !"  cried  the  Postmaster.  "I'll 
be  one  of  four  gents  to  brave  it !" 

There  was  no  response,  although  several  men  looked 
eager. 

"Why  don't  you  speak  up?"  asked  Matthias. 

"Don't  know  it,"  answered  Walter  Smith,  the  bell- 
ringer. 

"Wai,  this  is  it!  Ladies  and  gents  baow  to  pard- 
ners,  then  to  corners!  Forrard  an'  back! — Forrard 


220        THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

an'  baow !  Ladies  change !  Baow !  Sachey !  Baow ! 
Balance  to  corners!  Swing  yer  pardners  to  place — 
baow !" 

"Do  you  expect  us  to  remember  all  that  at  onct, 
Matthias  Hewlett?"  cried  Em. 

"Wai,  you  go  ahead  an'  dance  an'  I'll  call  off !  Come 
on!"  After  much  laughing  and  hanging  back,  the 
quadrille  was  started,  with  Mrs.  Sessions  at  the  melo- 
deon. 

In  the  midst  of  it,  however,  Em's  hospitable  voice 
called  out: 

"Now,  folks,  let's  come  out  into  the  dinin'-room! 
There's  a  weddin'  cake  an'  some  currant  wine  out  there 
to  be  consumed  by  somebody,  an'  I  suspect  they're 
a-gettin'  impatient  to  be  ate !" 

With  which,  she  took  her  beamingly  happy  hus 
band's  arm  and  headed  the  procession  toward  the 
dining-room.  Once  there,  Mrs.  Sessions  and  Experi 
ence  Lee  took  charge  of  everything,  although  Em 
attempted  to  pass  the  refreshments  and  was  quite  dis 
tressed  when  she  was  not  allowed  to. 

"You've  all  got  me  where  I  can't  say  anythin' !" 
she  groaned  resignedly  as  she  went  back  to  her  seat 
beside  Charles  Reuben.  "Any  one  who's  cracked 
enough  to  git  merried  at  my  age,  ought  to  hev  keep 
ers,  I'll  admit  it ;  but  I  want  you  to  notice  I  didn't  say 


A  WEDDING  221 

'obey,'  Charles  Reuben,  so  don't  let  my  seemin'  meek 
ness  encourage  you!  I  don't  mind  humorin'  these 
women!"  she  added  with  a  twinkle. 

"Now,  friends,  here's  to  your  health,  and  may  you 
all  go  an'  do  likewise!  Charles  Reuben  an'  me  hev 
been  slow,  there's  no  denyin';  but  perhaps  it's  just  as 
well.  -The  turtle  is  slow,  but  he  generally  gits  there 
in  time  for  the  soup!  I  hope  and  believe  we've  made 
no  mistake.  Of  course,  there  is  drawbacks.  Charles 
Reuben's  a  poet.  As  a  rule,  while  the  poet  takes  in 
the  beauty  of  nature,  his  wife  takes  in  washin'!  But 
I'm  willin'  to  forgive  Charles  Reuben  his  poetry,  if 
he'll  forgive  me  my  temper,  an'  I  guess  he  will." 
(Charles  Reuben's  adoring,  uplifted  countenance  left 
no  doubt  of  it.)  "And  after  all,  about  the  worst  joke 
a  woman  can  play  on  a  man  is  to  merry  him,  when 
you  come  to  think  of  it.  So  I  guess  we're  about 
even !" 

It  was  impossible  for  every  one  to  crowd  into  the 
dining-room,  and,  as  is  usual  at  such  times,  the  younger 
people  made  a  rush  for  the  hall  stairs,  their  plates 
and  napkins  in  their  hands. 

Lois  Sessions  and  Mr.  Eden  (who  had  first  tried, 
ineffectually,  to  find  Rose)  had  established  themselves 
on  the  top  step,  above  the  turn.  The  girl  had  picked 
out  this  particular  spot  with  intention.  Here  they 


222         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

could  talk  uninterruptedly  without  being  seen  by  those 
farther  down. 

"It's  unfortunate  that  you  happened  to  come  home 
just  now/'  Philip  was  saying,  "for  I  cannot  be  here 
to  help  you.  I  am  going  away  to-morrow  morn 
ing." 

"Going  away!"  echoed  Lois  blankly. 

"Yes.  It  won't  be  for  long,  but  I  promised  my 
sister  I  would  go  to  her  right  after  the  Installation, 
for  a  few  days." 

"But  there  wasn't  any  Installation, — at  least,  there 
won't  be  till  later  on,  now;  so  I  don't  see  why  you're 
not  absolved  from  your  promise." 

"That's  very  pretty  sophistry,  but  I'm  afraid  it  isn't 
quite  honest  enough  for  a  would-be  clergyman  to  go 
by,"  said  Philip.  "And,  anyway,  I  wish  to  go!" 

"Oh — "  said  Lois  coldly.  "Of  course  if  you  wish 
to  go,  that's  another  matter."  And  she  devoted  her 
self  strictly  to  her  wine  and  cake,  while  her  eyes 
narrowed. 

"Elizabeth  and  I  are  just  everything  to  each  other," 
Philip  went  on,  "and  we  haven't  been  together  for 
months.  And  perhaps  it's  better,  after  all — for  then 
I  can  tell  her—" 

"No  1"  interrupted  Lois,  turning  around  on  him  sud 
denly. 


A  WEDDING  223 

"No?"  he  asked,  surprised. 

"No!"  she  reiterated.  "I  will  not  have  her  told! 
I  won't  have  Miss  Eden  and  the  girls  know — I  insist 
on  that !"  she  said  passionately. 

"Why,  I  don't  understand  you,"  pursued  the  man. 
"I  thought  we  agreed  it  would  be  more  honor 
able—" 

"Yes — yes — I  know  we  did,"  assented  Lois.  It's 
only  that —  Oh — I  suppose  I'm  nervous — the  doctor 
up  at  College  said  any  little  thing  that  excites  me  is 
awfully  bad  for  me — and  I  dread  all  the  fuss  and  so 
on!  Oh,  please  don't  say  anything  to  her  about  it! 
Promise !"  she  coaxed. 

"Can't  you  see  that  your  only  course  is  to  come 
right  out  with  the  truth  and  get  things  over?"  rea 
soned  Philip.  "I  have  promised  to  help  you  in  every 
way  possible,  and  I  will.  But  you  must  leave  matters 
in  my  hands,  absolutely." 

"Oh,  of  course  if  you're  going  to  bully  me  into 
submission,  I've  nothing  to  say,"  grumbled  Lois  petu 
lantly.  "But  you  know  my  wishes  and  apparently  you 
don't  intend  to  consult  them.  I've  placed  the  great 
est  trust  in  you  that  a  woman  could  put  in  a  man — 
so  now  you  think  you  can  make  me  do  as  you  like! 
It  seems  odd  when  there  are  a  dozen  men  who  would 
cut  off  their  heads  for  me,  gladly,  if  I  asked  them  to — 


224         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

and  be  proud  to  do  it  for  me,  too!  Perhaps  when 
you've  a  hold  over  a  girl,  it's  different!" 

"Don't!"  said  Philip  indignantly.  "If  you  talk  that 
way,  I'll  drop  the  whole  thing!  If  I'm  to  help  you,  it 
must  be  in  my  own  way.  Elizabeth  sails  for  England 
next  week,  and  won't  be  back  all  summer — so — " 

"Don't  I  know  it?"  cried  Lois.  "That's  why  I—" 
Then  she  stopped  and  bit  her  lip.  "If  you'll  wait  till 
she  comes  back  I  won't  say  a  word!  I'll  agree  to  tell 
her,  then — " 

"No,"  said  Philip,  quietly,  "I  won't.  I'm  sorry  to 
offend  you,  my  dear  girl,  but  if  you  mill  be  provoked 
when  I  do  the  only  decent  thing  a  man  can  do,  then 
I  cannot  help  it.  I've  never  been  used  to  deceit  and 
I  don't  understand  it.  Of  course  I  know  you  don't 
really  intend  to  deceive,"  he  added  hurriedly,  "but 
Elizabeth,  as  Dean  of  the  college,  must  be  told  before 
she  sails.  You  know,  as  well  as  I  do,  that  it  is  the 
only  square  thing.  I'll  shoulder  all  the  responsi — " 

"Why  must  she  be  told?  It's  my  affair,  not  hers! 
How  silly  you  are!"  Lois  cried,  on  the  verge  of  hys 
terics.  Then,  raising  her  tear-wet  eyelashes  patheti 
cally,  "Don't  go  home!"  she  whispered  softly. 

"I  must  go  home!  The  Church  has  given  me  a 
week's  vacation  now,  and  I  must  go,"  was  Philip's  de 
cisive  answer. 


A  WEDDING  225 

"Then  I've  nothing  more  to  say,"  said  Lois  in  a 
hard  voice. 

Philip  stood  up  and  stretched  out  a  hand  toward 
the  girl.  "Can't  you  see  that  my  way  is  the  only 
way?"  he  urged  gently.  "Why  keep  it  a  secret  longer? 
I'm  just  thinking  of  you!" 

Lois  laughed  lightly.  The  sound  was  like  a  stream 
of  ice  water.  She  rose,  too,  and  said  scornfully: 
"Thinking  of  me?  How  touching!" 

Neither  of  them  had  noticed  Rose  who  had  come 
up  by  the  back  staircase  to  get  Em  a  handkerchief. 
She  was  just  in  time  to  hear  the  last  two  sentences, 
and  see  Philip  standing  with  his  arm  held  out  to  Lois, 
his  eyes  full  of  pleading. 

Then  she  slipped  quietly  down  stairs,  on  her  mission. 

Philip  and  Lois  stood  looking  silently  at  each  other 
a  moment,  then  the  girl  said : 

"Once  more — do  you  insist  on  going?" 

"I  must,"  said  Philip  sadly,  letting  his  arm  slowly 
drop. 

"Then  don't  expect  to — " 

There  was  a  scream  (Experience  Lee's  voice)  down 
stairs,  a  sound  of  running  feet,  and  confusion.  Me 
chanically,  Philip  and  Lois  rushed,  like  every  one  else, 
toward  the  dining-room. 

Halfway  down  the  stairs,  they  were  stopped  by  the 


226        THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

jam  of  people,  but  over  the  heads  of  those  in  the 
dining-room  they  could  see  Rose  Warren  lying  half 
on  the  floor,  half  in  Experience  Lee's  lap,  a  thin  stream 
of  blood  trickling  from  her  mouth,  down  onto  the 
sweet  white  dress. 

Em  bent  frantically  over  her;  with  hands  clasped; 
so  tightly  that  the  knuckles  shone — while  Dr.  Ses 
sions,  clawing  ice  from  a  nearby  glass,  was  trying 
to  force  it  into  Rose's  mouth. 

To  add  to  the  confusion,  Danny  was  pushing  his 
way  through  the  crowd,  and,  the  moment  he  got  a 
look  at  Rose,  he  burst  into  frightful  sobbing. 

"Oh,  Doctor !  Doctor !  It's  just  like  Bessie !  Is  she 
goin'  to  die  too — is  she  goin'  to  die  too — is  she  goin' 
to  die  too?" 

"Don't!  You'll  frighten  your  sister!"  Doctor  an 
swered  shortly.  "Of  course  she  isn't  going  to  die, 
but  she's  sick,  and  you  must  be  good!"  Then  turn 
ing  to  Em  as  Mrs.  Sessions  extinguished  Danny's  sobs 
on  her  broad  bosom,  the  doctor  said — "We  must  get 
Rose  up  to  her  room  and  she  mustn't  be  disturbed — 
I  don't  think  this  is  anything  but  the  breaking  of  a 
very  small  blood-vessel,  perhaps  in  the  throat;  the  ex 
citement  of  the  wedding,  and  all.  But  she  must  have 
absolute  quiet,  and  at  once." 

While  the  doctor  was  speaking,  Philip  had  some- 


A  WEDDING  227 

how  managed  to  leap  down  the  remaining  stairs  to 
Rose.  Without  a  word  he  gathered  the  slight  bur 
den  into  his  arms  and  carried  her  to  her  room. 

The  wedding  party  began  to  break  up,  quickly  and 
silently. 

Suddenly,  Rose  opened  her  eyes  and  encountered 
Em's  tear-filled  ones. 

"Aunty,  do  put  on  your  traveling  dress  at  once;  it's 

time  you  were  getting  ready  to  start,"  she  whispered. 

"My  lamb !    Do  you  suppose  I'll  go  one  step  ?    No, 

sir!     Not  till  you're  perfectly  well  and  strong!     Me 

an'  Charles  Reuben  can  wait,  can't  we,  husband?" 

"Course,  we  can,"  assented  Charles  Reuben  heart 
ily.  He  had  followed  behind  Em  when  Philip  car 
ried  Rose  upstairs;  and  he  had  hung  around,  just  out 
side  the  door  of  her  room,  waiting  to  be  of  assist 
ance  to  some  one. 

"Can't  I  do  anythin',  Em?"  he  added  wistfully. 
Em  came  close  to  her  husband  and  whispered — "Yes, 
you  can;  you  can  go  downstairs  and  tell  those  folks 
the  weddin's  over,  an'  thank  'em  all  for  comin'.  Ask 
'em  to  please  go  kind  of  quiet.  And,  here"  (pulling 
a  bill  out  of  its  hiding  place  in  the  front  of  her  dress) 
"just  give  the  minister  this — for  merryin'  us, — only 
don't  tell  him  it  come  from  me !" 

Charles  Reuben  pushed  her  hand  gently  away  from 


228         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

him  and  with  a  proudly  superior  smile  tapped  his 
coat  in  the  spot  where  his  wallet  presumably  lay. 
"No,  Em,"  he  said,  teetering  back  and  forward  first 

on  his  heels,  then  on  his  toes.  "This  is  my  treat — hey? 
Five  dollars  is  a  good  deal,  but  it's  worth  it — it's 
worth  it!  And  more  than  that,  we  don't  hev  to  git 
merried  every  day!  Once  done,  it's  done  for  good, 
old  girl!" 

With  that,  he  teetered  back  and  forth  very  violently, 
keen  delight  written  all  over  his  countenance.  He 
even  became  so  bold  as  to  give  Em  a  playful  dig  under 
her  sharp  chin. 

"Now,  you  g'long!"  said  Em,  pleased  at  the  atten 
tion,  nevertheless.  "I've  no  time  to  spend  talkin'  to 
you,  when  my  lamb  lies  sick!" 

On  the  way  back  to  Rose's  bedside,  she  said  to 
herself — "Who'd  ever  have  thunk  it!  Charles  Reuben 
payin'  out  five  dollars,  from  choice!  I'll  venture  it's 
the  first  time  he  ever  spent  so  much  of  his  own  money! 
He  must  hev  wanted  me  pretty  bad  all  these  years, 
that's  sartin !" 

Downstairs,  Charles  Reuben  did  as  he  was  bid, 
and  thanked  every  one,  in  Em's  and  his  own  name,  for 
coming  to  see  them  married.  Waving  his  arms  he 
said  : 

"On  this  great  occasion — this  great  occasion — I  feel 


A  WEDDING  229 

that  I  should  like  to  say  something  you  could  all 
remember — how  would  this  do: 

"Never  disparage  marriage! 

If  you  cannot  have  a  carriage 
Come  in  a  cart  and  stand  up  and  do  your  part      3 
And — and — and — you'll  be  happy 
Whatever  HER  age! 

"That  last  line  isn't  quite  up  to  the  rest,  but  it's 
impromptoo,  friends,  impromptoo — and  under  the  cir 
cumstances — wedding  just  over — fair  damsel  taken 
with  a  sudden  sick  spell  and  all — is  of  course  upset 
ting — but  the  sentiment  is  all  there,  and  sometime  I 
shall  take  pleasure  in  writing  it  all  out  for  you, 
regular. 

"I'm  sorry  to  have  to  request  you  to  go  home  as 
quiet  as  possible,  but  my  wife — Miss  Ufford  as  was — " 
(gesture  to  the  left)  "MRS.  Charles  Reuben  I  sham 
as  is"  (gesture  to  the  right)  requests  you  to  take  your 
leave  quietly  with  thanks  and  much  obliged  to  all." 

And  so,  with  several  profound  bows  and  much  show 
ing  of  even,  blue-white  teeth,  the  bridegroom  at  length 
witnessed  the  departure  of  his  guests,  and  turned  back 
into  Em's  house — now  his — with  a  strange  feeling  of 
proprietorship. 

The  last  person  having  vanished  in  the  distance, 


230        THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

Charles  Reuben  started  to  go  upstairs,  then  stopped  a 
moment,  changed  his  mind  and  came  out  onto  the  front 
porch.  Drawing  up  a  large  rocking  chair,  he  tilted 
back  in  it,  crossed  his  feet  carefully  upon  the  piazza. 
railing,  drew  out  a  cigar,  and  closing  his  queer  little 
eyes,  gave  himself  up  to  placid  contentment./ 

He  had  reached  his  haven  at  last. 

Occasionally  he  opened  his  eyes  and  listened  for  a 
sound  from  upstairs;  but  everything  was  quiet.  Rose 
was  asleep,  and  faithful  Em  sat  by  her,  stroking  her 
transparent  little  hand  as  it  lay  in  the  watcher's  unoc 
cupied  palm. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

PHILIP   GOES  AWAY 

-  Lois  SESSIONS  had  hurried  home  at  once,  with  her 
mother,  while  Philip,  in  a  fever  of  worry,  had  hung 
around  until  the  doctor  told  him  Rose,  for  the  pres 
ent  at  least,  was  comfortable. 

He  and  Lois  had  not  exchanged  one  word  since  Ex 
perience  Lee's  scream  had  stopped  Lois  in  the  middle 
of  her  sentence;  and  as  she  thought  the  matter  over  on 
her  way  home,  Lois  began  to  regard  Experience  as  an 
instrument  of  Providence — for  when  the  cry  came,  she 
had  been  upon  the  point  of  rejecting  Philip's  help,  alto 
gether.  Another  word  would  have  done  it,  and  Ex 
perience  Lee  had  saved  her  that  word. 

Now,  in  a  cooler  moment,  Lois  knew  suddenly  that 
Philip  meant  more — much,  more — to  her  than  just  the 
person  who  had  promised  to  get  her  out  of  a  wretched, 
heart-breaking  scrape.  And  she  turned  cold  with 
fright  as  she  thought  how  near  she  had  come  to  losing 
him  before  ever  she  had  won  him. 

She  was  sick  with  panic  fear  at  the  prospect  of 
Philip's  coming  interview  with  the  Dean  of  her  col- 

231 


232         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

lege,  but  she  realized  at  last,  with  a  queer  amaze,  that 
she  loved  Eden — loved  him  too  much  to  give  him  up — 
whatever  he  might  do — whatever  his  visit  to  his  sister 
might  involve.  She  loved  him,  especially,  because  he 
would  not  give  in  to  her  will.  He  was  the  first  per 
son  who  had  ever  opposed  her  (except  Em,  whom  she 
did  not  think  worth  noticing)  ;  so  the  experience  was 
novel. 

The  more  she  thought  about  it,  the  more  she  blessed 
unsuspecting  Experience  Lee.  But  she  did  not  aban 
don  the  idea  of  making  Philip  give  up  his  trip.  She 
resolved  to  send  him  a  sweet  little  note  apologizing  for 
her  display  of  temper,  and  asking  him  to  call  that  even 
ing  ;  and  by  this  means  so  to  fill  his  heart  with  remorse 
that  he  would  give  in  to  her,  after  all.  "He  must — " 
she  thought.  "Every  one  does.  And  he  will,  in  the 
end,  if  I  play  my  cards  right." 

But  when  evening  came,  he  did  not  call,  although 
Lois  sat  watching  for  him  until  eleven  o'clock,  hidden 
behind  the  shutter  of  her  little  room  upstairs. 

Nor  did  Philip  come  rushing  over  in  the  morning, 
as  she  hoped  against  hope  he  might  do.  Instead,  Lois 
caught  a  glimpse  of  him  in  the  early  stage  as  it  flew 
by  the  doctor's  house  on  its  way  to  East  Longmeadow. 

His  big  square  shoulders  and  clean  cut  features 
looked  quite  as  usual;  and  this  gave  her  an  absurd 


PHILIP  GOES  AWAY  233 

feeling  that  he  was  going  with  a  light  heart,  regard 
less  of  her  suffering.  Her  temper  rose  again,  and  she 
rushed  up  to  her  room  and  spent  a  good  part  of  the 
morning  in  a  convulsive  storm  of  angry  tears. 

Had  she  known  it,  Philip  went  away  with  anything 
but  a  light  heart.  But  it  was  Rose,  not  Lois,  that  he 
was  thinking  of.  Yet  it  was  the  only  thing  he  could 
do;  for  the  doctor  had  assured  him  that  Rose  would 
be  much  better  by  the  morning;  but  must  on  no  ac 
count  see  any  visitor  for  several  days.  So  he  had  no 
hope  of  a  glimpse  of  her,  even  if  he  were  to  postpone 
his  going.  Still,  he  had  hurried  up  the  hill  to  Em's, 
a  few  minutes  before  stage  time.  He  felt  that  he 
could  not  leave  town  without  news  of  some  kind. 

Charles  Reuben  met  him  at  the  door,  with  a  finger 
on  his  lip.  In  a  sibilant  stage-whisper,  the  Bard 
warned  Philip  that  Rose  was  not  yet  awake,  but  Em 
said  she  was  better. 

With  this,  Philip  was  forced  to  be  content.  But  he 
gave  Charles  Reuben  his  address;  and  the  queer  little 
man  promised  to  write  him  every  day  he  was  gone, 
"how  Rose  got  on" — a  promise  which  he  kept,  faith 
fully.  And,  for  some  strange,  romantic  reason,  the 
bridegroom  did  not  tell  even  Em  about  it,  regarding 
the  matter  as  the  minister's  own  secret. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

DURING  the  week  Philip  was  away,  Lois  kept  almost 
entirely  to  herself. 

The  afternoon  after  his  departure,  she  had  gone 
alone  for  a  long  row  up  the  river — to  the  place  where 
she  and  Philip  had  rowed  together,  that  wonderful  day, 
just  after  Easter.  On  the  way  home,  she  had  encoun 
tered  Em  Ufford  and  Danny,  walking  by  the  riverside ; 
looking  for  flowers  to  take  home  to  Rose. 

Em  had  given  Lois  one  of  her  piercing  looks,  and 
had  called  out  sarcastically: 

"That's  a  pretty  heavy  boat  for  such  an  invalid  as 
you.  Ain't  you  a-goin'  ruther  fast?  Look  out  you 
don't  overtax  yourself !" 

After  this  Lois  had  kept  off  the  water,  and  instead 
took  a  rug  and  a  pillow  down  to  the  trees  near  the 
river's  edge  and  made  herself  happy  with  a  book — or 
pretended  to  do  so,  for  the  benefit  of  the  curious. 

She  also  reread,  quite  often,  a  little  note  that  Philip 
had  written  her  on  the  train  the  morning  he  left,  and 
posted  at  one  of  the  stations,  en  route.  It  ran: 

234 


THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE         235 

"DEAR  Lois : 

"This  is  just  a  line  to  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am  that 
I  could  not  do  as  you  asked,  and  stop  in  to  see  you  last 
evening;  I  meant  to  have  done  so — but  matters  came 
up  which  kept  me  at  home.    However,  there  was  really 
nothing  more  we  could  have  said,  I  think.     It  was 
sweet  and  good  in  you  to  'apologize' — but  you  need 
not  have.     I  am  sure  you  long  to  do  the  right  thing, 
both  for  your  own  sake  and  for  the  sake  of  others — 
and  I  am  going  to  help  you  to  do  it  the  right  way,  if  I 
can.     I  was  stupid  in  not  making  you  understand  my 
point.    You  are  too  fine  a  girl  to  agree  to  a  thing  un 
less  you  see  it  clearly,  yourself,  and  I  like  you  all  the 
more  for  being  sincere  and  not  doing  just  what  I  ask, 
blindly,  without  using  your  own  reasoning  powers. 
Honestly,  I  do.   So  will  you  forgive  me  for  seeming  so 
obstinate?     Elizabeth  is  not  only  very  fond  of  you, 
but  she  is  also  very  wise;  and  she  will  help  us  to  get 
things  straightened  out,  I  know,  so  that  your  dear 
father  and  mother  will  be  spared  the  knowledge  that 
would  hurt  them  so  cruelly.    Just  trust  me — and  trust 
Elizabeth — and  when  I  come  back,  I'll  have  good  news 
for  you.    Keep  up  a  brave  heart,  and  don't  worry.    I'll 
make  everything  all  right,  see  if  I  don't. 
"Faithfully  yours, 

"PHILIP  EDEN." 

Certainly,  any  girl  with  a  burdensome  secret  should 
have  been  satisfied  with  such  a  letter;  but  though  Lois 
kissed  it  and  tucked  it  into  her  dress  with  great  care,  it 


236        THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

did  not  seem  to  afford  her  any  happiness  at  all.  In 
stead,  it  caused  a  few  hot  tears  to  push  themselves 
through  her  bravely  resisting  eyelashes,  and  her  throat 
to  swell  most  uncomfortably.  She  was  not  used  to 
fear.  But  fear  was  doing  all  manner  of  things  just 
now  to  her  once-steady  nerves. 

On  the  third  morning,  the  girl  ambled  along  by  the 
river  aimlessly,  with  her  usual  impedimenta,  not  notic 
ing  or  caring  where  she  stopped.  At  last,  a  big  apple 
tree  struck  her  fancy;  for  its  branches  came  down  to 
the  ground,  and  it  seemed  a  good  place  in  which  to  keep 
away  from  people. 

She  sat  down,  leaned  her  head  against  the  tree  trunk 
and  did  not  even  make  the  pretense  of  reading;  just 
sat,  her  eyes  closed,  her  usual  look  of  indifference  re 
placed  by  one  of  hopeless  desperation. 

Presently  she  was  startled  out  of  her  reverie  by  a 
slight  rustle.  Opening  her  eyes  she  discovered  the 
brown,  gnarled  face  of  "Old  Root,"  grinning  at  her  at 
close  quarters  from  an  opening  in  the  heavy  branches. 
His  yellow,  fang-like  teeth  parted  even  wider,  as  he 
saw  she  had  observed  him. 

"Feelin'  disconsolate,  be  ye?"  he  snarled,  still  smil 
ing.  "Hes  ye  feller  deserted  ye?"  (in  a  playful  tone). 
"Naow,  I  call  that  a  shame !" 


THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE         237 

"How  do  you  happen  to  be  here  spying  on  me?" 
demanded  Lois  haughtily,  sitting  upright. 

"Wai,  you  ca'n't  rightly  call  it  spyin',"  he  drawled, 
"seein'  as  how  I've  bin  'customed  to  set  under  this  tree 
for  forty  odd  year.  Ye  see,  I  come  here  to  fish !" 

Lois  for  the  first  time  perceived  a  fishing  rod  and 
basket  lying  a  little  distance  off,  and  nearer  the  water. 
If  old  Root  had  put  them  there,  he  evidently  had  done 
it  very  quietly,  and  had  tiptoed  up  to  the  tree — at 
tracted  by  the  shimmer  of  her  light  summer  dress. 

"O'  course  I  ain't  wishin'  to  introode.  And  you  can 
stay  thar',  now  yer  once  sot.  /  don't  care.  It's  a  com 
fortable  old  tree,  even  though  I  ain't  used  to  bringin* 
a  whole  feather  bed,  like  you  done,  to  rest  my  bones 
on.  Young  folks  air  lazy,  nowadays.  'Twan't  so  when 
I  was  young,  I  can  tell  ye.  I  chose  this  tree  long  ago, 
for  a  fishin'  tree,  becuz  ye  can  see  an'  not  be  seen ;  an' 
if  thar's  any  passin'  goin'  by,  ye  sure  ter  git  it. 

"Wai,  your  Minister  got  throwed  aout  by  them  con- 
sarned  old  city  preachers,  didn't  he?" 

Silence. 

"How  long's  your  Minister  goin'  ter  be  away?"  went 
on  old  Root,  undaunted. 

"Mr.  Eden  will  be  back  in  a  few  days,  if  that  is 
whom  you  mean,"  answered  Lois.  She  would  have 
preferred  not  to  have  answered  her  tormentor  at  all; 


238         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

but  somehow  she  felt  afraid  of  his  tongue,  and  the 
words  came  in  spite  of  herself. 

"Feelin'  pretty  lonesome,  ain't  ye?"  he  drawled  in 
sinuatingly.  "Hope  nothin's  happened  betwixt  ye!" 
This  last  with  sanctimonious  solemnity. 

"Naturally  not,"  said  Lois  f  reezingly,  and  turned  her 
whole  attention  to  her  book. 

"Up  the  other  way,  hold  her  the  other  way!"  sug 
gested  old  Root,  motioning  toward  her  book  which 
she  held  inverted. 

This  discovery  of  his  was  too  much  for  Lois,  and 
she  looked  up  angrily,  saying  "Are  you  going  away? 
Or  shall  I?" 

At  this  he  said,  "Oh  I  beg  yer  pawdon!  I  was 
a-tryin'  to  help  ye.  Beats  all  what  they  teach  in  them 
colleges!  Who'd  a-thunk  you  could  read  a  book  up 
side  daown,  naow !"  and  off  he  went,  cackling  to  him 
self  in  high  glee. 

"Has  every  one  in  this  village  got  eyes  on  me?" 
asked  Lois  aloud,  of  the  tree.  "They  know  I'm  in 
some  sort  of  a  fix,  that's  plain!"  Then  her  thoughts 
turned  back  to  a  point  toward  which  they  always  re 
verted  sooner  or  later,  during  these  long  dragging  days 
of  Philip's  absence. 

"It  will  come  all  right — it  must  come  right,"  she 
repeated  over  and  over.  Then — "But  why  hasn't  he 


THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE         239 

written  me?  Not  a  word  since  that  note  scribbled  in 
the  train  on  the  day  he  left.  That  certainly  was  meek 
and  remorseful  enough.  He  probably  didn't  get  my 
answer  and  so  he  thinks  he's  not  forgiven  for  treating 
me  so,  on  the  stairs  that  day.  Oh,  if  only  I  could  have 
kept  him  here  a  month — just  a  little  month !"  she  mur 
mured  aloud. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

OLD   ROOT    MAKES   A    CALL 

UP  at  Em's,  the  atmosphere  was  in  direct  contrast 
to  that  at  the  home  where  Lois  was  the  central  figure. 
Here,  every  day,  Rose  was  to  be  found  curled  up  in 
the  hammock  on  the  front  porch ;  her  pet  kitten,  like  a 
small,  furry,  yellow  ball,  in  her  arms. 

Em  always  brought  her  sewing  out  and  sat  beside 
the  hammock,  shelled  her  peas,  and  did  there,  in  fact, 
everything  she  was  not  actually  obliged  to  do  in  the 
kitchen. 

It  seemed  as  if  she  could  not  bear  to  have  Rose  out 
of  her  sight  for  an  instant.  "I  feel's  if  the  angels 
might  come  and  waft  her  away,  if  I  leave  her  alone," 
the  poor  woman  confided  to  Charles  Reuben. 

Rose  was  getting  much  better,  but  the  doctor  had 
told  Em  not  to  start  on  the  wedding  trip  for  some 
days  yet.  And  Em  was  quite  content  to  wait,  and  min 
ister  to  her  darling. 

Charles  Reuben  was  surprisingly  helpful  to  every 
one.  Em  kept  him  from  reading  too  much  poetry  to 

240 


OLD  ROOT  MAKES  A  CALL    241 

the  invalid,  and  Rose  began  to  have  a  real  affection 
for  the  queer  man. 

Danny's     admiration     for    him     increased     daily.  . 
Charles  Reuben  knew  how  to  whittle  most  wonderful 
whistles,  and  also  to  carve  out  of  wood  little  bears  that 
delighted  the  child's  heart. 

Once  when  Dr.  Sessions  was  at  the  house  on  a  visit 
to  Rose,  Danny  showed  him  one  of  the  bears. 

The  doctor  opened  his  eyes  wide  and  raised  his 
bushy  eyebrows  over  the  rims  of  his  spectacles  as  he 
said: 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  Charles  Reuben  carved 
that  bear  with  a  penknife?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Danny  decidedly,  "I  saw  him !" 

"Well,  you  go  and  tell  Charles  Reuben  that  if  he 
can  carve  as  well  as  that,  he  better  give  up  poetry  and 
take  to  this,  instead.  Tell  him  that  in  Switzerland 
people  get  a  lot  of  money  for  doing  no  better  work  than 
that.  And  I'll  undertake  to  sell  as  many  as  he'll  carve ; 
and  get  a  good  price  for  them,  too,  from  a  man  I 
know  in  Springfield !" 

Danny  hopped  off  to  jtell  Charles  Reuben  the  glad 
tidings;  and  the  result  was,  the  next  time  the  doctor 
went  to  town,  he  took  with  him  fifteen  beautifully 
carved  little  bears,  so  perfect  that  even  the  curio*  dealer 
in  Springfield  was  astonished.  And  a  permanent  ar- 


242         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

rangement  was  made,  whereby  Charles  Reuben  was  to 
have  a  market  for  his  wares.  The  dealer  was  to  send 
them  to  Boston  regularly,  to  his  main  office,  if  they 
continued  satisfactory. 

Strange  to  say,  Charles  Reuben  himself  was  not  in 
the  least  puffed  up  by  the  discovery  that  he  was  an  ar 
tist.  "I've  been  makin'  'em  all  my  life,  but  I  never 
knew  they  wuz  wuth  anything'5  he  said  modestly. 

It  pleased  him,  though,  to  earn  money  for  Em,  and 
to  think  that  she  was  proud  of  him.  And  proud  she 
certainly  was,  so  proud  that  she  ordered  him  to  carve 
two  large  bears,  twelve  inches  high,  to  be  placed  one 
at  each  end  of  the  mantel  in  the  "best  room" — under 
the  mournful  shade  of  the  weeping- will ow  picture. 

Altogether,  life  was  very  simple  and  sweet  at  Em's, 
and  one  day  passed  much  like  another;  the  only  varia 
tion  being  when  the  neighbors  occasionally  dropped  in 
to  inquire  for  Rose  and  to  listen  to  Em's  spicy  tongue. 

Old  Root  was  never  known  to  have  been  among 
Em's  callers;  but,  on  the  morning  he  had  discovered 
Lois  Sessions  under  his  tree,  he  was  seen  to  trudge 
stiffly  up  Em's  front  walk,  in  his  old,  rusty  clothes,  and 
stop  with  one  foot  on  the  lowest  step  of  the  piazza,. 

"Mornin',  folks,"  he  said  without  removing  his  hat. 

Em  and  Rose  responded  to  this  Chesterfield  greet 
ing;  and  Em,  hospitable  to  the  death,  remarked1  in  a 


OLD  ROOT  MAKES  A  CALL    243 

voice  from  which  all  cordiality  had  been  drained,  as 
through  a  sieve — "Will  you  come  up  and  set  with  us, 
Mr.  Root?" 

"Thanks — don't  keer  if  I  do!"  said  the  old  man, 
clumping  up  the  steps  in  his  heavy  farm  boots  and 
edging  into  the  nearest  chair. 

"Haow's  the  invalid?"  giving  a  hitch  to  his  whole 
body,  in  the  direction  of  Rose,  and  trying  to  smile 
genially. 

"Oh,  I'm  better,  thank  you,  Mr.  Root.  Aunty  won't 
let  me  get  up  out  of  this  hammock,  but  I'm  really  quite 
strong  again.  How  is  Mrs.  Root?" 

"What — the  old  woman?  Oh,  she's  wal  'nough,  I 
guess.  Allus  complainin',  though.  I  got  so  I  don't  pay 
no  'tention  to  it  no  more — she's  as  strong  as  a  hoss, 
if  she  was  only  a  mind  to  think  so!" 

Em  and  Rose  exchanged  significant  looks  over  their 
guest's  head,  knowing  full  well  that  poor  Hannah  Root 
worked  her  frail  body  to  the  bone  for  her  husband. 

"Some  women  want  the  'arth,"  he  continued  plac 
idly,  shifting  his  quid  of  tobacco  from  one  side  of  his 
mouth  to  the  other.  "That  kind  hes  to  be  treated 
firm.  Gentleness  is  bad  for  'em!" 

"Did  you  ever  try  it  ?"  asked  Em  dryly. 
"Try  it!    Why  bless  ye,   I'm  a  saint  at  home!" 
cackled  the  old  man.    "Ask  Mr.  Eden,"  (with  a  wink) 


244         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

"He,  he,  he!"  Then  suddenly  lowering  his  voice  to 
the  pitch  of  gossip  and  mystery — "That  reminds  me — 
er — what's  up  with  L0-is?" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  Em  sharply. 

"Why,  this  mawnin',"  he  drawled  in  a  loud,  husky 
whisper,  "this  mawnin'  I  found  her  a-settin'  under  a 
tree  down  by  the  bridge,  not  readin'  her  story  book 
even,  but  only  a-settin',  with  her  eyes  shet,  as  if  she 
was  just  a-waitin',  kind  o'  patient,  for  to  hev  a  tooth 
pulled.  He's  been  gone  for  a  week,  a'most,  an'  she  cer 
tainly  ain't  the  pictur'  of  a  happy  bride  ter  be.  I  left 
her  a-tryin'  to  read  her  book  upside  down,  he !  he !  he !" 
(Then  once  more  lowering  his  voice — which  had  grad 
ually  risen  to  a  cackle — he  went  on  in  a  husky  whis 
per)  :  "What  do  yeow  make  of  it?" 

"I'm  not  in  the  makin'  business,  Cyrus  Root — that's 
your  business.  If  you  want  to  know  what  I  think  of 
the  match,  though,  I  tell  you  freely,  I  think  she  ain't 
half  good  enough  for  'im.  An'  that's  putting  it  mild. 
A  girl  that'll  come  home  and  play  off  sick  when  she 
ain't  no  more  sick  than  you  an'  me  are,  as  far  as  I  can 
see ;  an'  give  no  satisfactory  account  of  why  she  didn't 
graduate,  isn't  goin'  to  make  a  good  minister's  wife. 
There's  a  lie  out,  somewheres.  Either  it  was  all  lies 
in  the  beginnin'  about  her  bein'  the  best  scholar  they 
had  an'  carryin'  off  all  the  prizes,  right  an'  left — either 


OLD  ROOT  MAKES  A  CALL    245 

those  tales  was  all  lies,  an'  she  couldn't  pass,  after  all, 
or  there's  some  other  reason  fer  her  not  graduatin'  than 
the  one  she  gives  out.  No  girl,  if  she  can  carry  off 
the  palm,  is  a-goin'  to  walk  away  an'  leave  it  to  some 
one,  just  becuz  she's  got  narves  an'  a  pain  in  her  back. 
No,  sir!  You  can  depend  upon  it  there's  a  lie  some 
where  along  the  line !" 

"I'm  sorry  to  hear  you  say  that,  Miss  Uf — Isham," 
said  old  Root  hypocritically.  "Ain't  you  a  leetle  hard 
on  the  gal?" 

"Wai,  maybe  I  am,"  said  Em,  also  hypocritically. 

"How's  your  sister,  Liza?"  she  went  on  changing  the 
subject.  "It's  a  long  time  since  she's  bin  in  these 
parts." 

"Yes,  it  is,"  assented  the  man.  "She  enjoys  poor 
health,  most  o'  the  time.  I  may  hev  to  go  up  there 
most  any  day  now.  She's  got  one  of  her  turns  comin' 
on,  her  husband  writes.  An'  any  one  may  be  the  last. 
So  I'm  liable  to  be  sent  for,  any  day.  I  don't  suppose 
she'll  ever  git  to  South  Wilbr'm  agin.  Ye  see,  she's 
gittin'  kind  of  old  to  travel  so  fur  on  the  railroad." 

"She's  no  older'n  I  am — an'  I  ain't  quite  ready  to 
give  up  yet,  Cyrus  Root,"  snapped  his  hostess.  "Is 
Liza  still  a-livin'  in  that  college  town?" 

"Still  a-livin'  thar'  an'  always  will,  I  s'pose.  Her 
husband  don't  make  much,  nowadays,  (he's  a  stone  cut- 


246         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

ter)  on  account  o'  his  rheumatiz,  he  says:  but  I  calcu 
late  it's  laziness  more'n  anythin'  else  keeps  'im  housed 
most  o'  the  time.  His  son's  smart  enough  though,  for 
the  best  of  'em.  His  son  by  his  first,  ye  know — he's 
gardener  up  to  the  college,  where  Lo-is  goes." 

"So  I  heard,"  said  Em,  a  gleam  in  her  eyes.  "It's 
odd  now  I  can't  remember  Liza's  merried  name!  It's 
clean  gone  from  me!" 

"Tooig — it's  a  queer  one — Amos  Tooig's  the  name 
o'  the  man  she  married.  They  call  the  son  'little  Amos' 
to  tell  him  apart  from  his  pa,  although  he's  six  fut 
two  in  his  stockin'  feet,  they  tell  me,  an'  his  pa  allus 
was  a  runt  an'  is  so  still ;  less  he's  growed  more'n  most 
of  us  do  in  our  old  age." 

"Wai,  if  you  write  to  Liza,  tell  her  I  asked  for  her. 
She'n  I  used  to  play  together  so  much  when  we  wuz 
children!  Once,  when  I  fell  in  the  brook  an'  nearly 
drowned,  she  pulled  me  out  an'  likely  as  not  saved  my 
life;  for  the  brook  was  pretty  deep  in  that  spot.  She 
an'  Experience  Isham  an'  Mary  Ann  Smith  took  off 
all  my  wet  clo'es  an'  rolled  me  in  a  shawl  we'd  hed  to 
set  on ;  an'  thar'  we  stayed  all  the  afternoon,  a-waitin' 
for  my  clo'es  to  dry.  We  was  all  afraid  we'd  be 
whipped  if  we  went  home  an'  told  how  I  fell  in  the 
brook,  so  we  hung  my  hull  wardrobe  on  the  bushes  an' 
just  set  around  an'  watched  'em  drip.  Oh,  them  days ! 


OLD  ROOT  MAKES  A  CALL     247 

I  wonder  if  Liza  remembers  'em!"  Em  ended  with  a 
far-away  smile. 

"Whatever  become  of  Mary  Ann  Smith  after  she 
married  Luke  Pease  ?"  asked  old  Root. 

"They  went  way  off  and  travilled  in  furren  parts; 
an'  when  they  come  home,  they  was  too  grand  to  live 
in  South  Wilbr'm,  they  thought,  so  they  went  to  Lime, 
Conn.  I  met  her  once  on  Main  Street  in  Springfield 
an'  when  I  says — 'Do  tell,  Mary  Ann  Pease,  I'm  glad 
to  see  ye — '  she  looks  around  as  if  she  was  afraid  some 
one  would  hear  what  I  was  a-sayin'  an'  whispers 
'Hush!  My  name's  Madame  Anna  Peaseola  now! 
That's  Italian  for  Ann  Pease!'  Wai,  Madame  Anna 
Peaseola  she's  bin  to  this  day — an'  she's  welcome — no 
body's  a-goin'  to  grudge  it  to  her!" 

"It  learns  ye  a  lot  to  travil !"  sighed  old  Root,  wist 
fully. 

"Not  always,"  said  Em.  "There  was  Luke  Pease, 
himself,  never  could  absorb  any  knowledge  in  spite  of 
his  wanderin's  all  through  the  wonderful  places  where 
Christian  Martyrs  were  burned,  an'  Emperors  went 
to  war!  I  was  always  interested  in  such  things,  my 
self,  havin'  read  so  much  about  'em,  but  when  I  begun 
askin'  Luke  an'  his  Anna  Peaseola  about  Rome,  Anna 
she  says — 'Let's  see,  Luke,  was  we  to  Rome?'  And 
he  answers  back — 'Why,  yes;  don't  you  remember? 


248        THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

That  was  where  we  bought  them  socks!'  That's  all 
Rome  meant  to  either  of  'em.  There  was  another  place 
they  went  to.  They  didn't  say  where,  but  I  think  'twas 
in  Greece,  somewheres.  They  was  in  a  temple.  There 
was  a  guide  who  belonged  to  the  temple  a-showin' 
'em  round  till  they  come  up  to  a  great  candle  burnin* 
on  an  altar.  The  guide  says — 'This  sacred  candle  has 
jeen  burnin'  on  this  altar  for  three  thousand  years !' " 

"Law !"  interrupted  old  Root,  in  an  awed  tone. 
'  'Three  thousand  years,  honest?'  says  Luke  to  the 
guide.  'That's  what  I  said,'  says  the  guide.  'It  has 
never  been  known  to  go  out !'  Luke  drew  himself  up 
an'  blew  with  all  his  might  at  the  candle.  'It's  aout 
naow !'  he  says." 

"Good  enough !"  cackled  old  Root.  "I'd  like  to  'a' 
done  that  myself!" 

"I  presume  you  would !"  said  Em  slowly  and  scorn 
fully.  "If  it  hed  bin  me,  I  should  'a'  bin  so  overcome 
to  think  the  Lord  had  preserved  me  to  cross  the  great 
ocean  an'  see  all  them  wonders,  the  temples,  an'  tri 
umphal  arches  an'  pictures  of  saints  an'  martyrs,  that 
I  believe  I  should  'a'  knelt  right  down  an'  prayed  in 
front  o'  that  candle ; — not  f eelin'  that  it  was  any  affair 
o'  mine  whether  the  candle  was  three  thousand  years 
old  or  hed  to  be  renewed  occasionally  (like  the  lamb 
they  had  lyin'  down  with  the  lion  at  the  circus).  It's 


OLD  ROOT  MAKES  A  CALL    249 

the  spirit  o'  things,  a,n'  not  the  letter  of  'em,  that  car 
ries  us  through  life." 

"So  'tis,"  said  old  Root,  not  in  the  least  understand 
ing  her.  "Wai,  I  must  be  a-goin',"  he  added,  slowly 
getting  up  out  of  his  chair.  "Give  my  respec's  to  the 
bridegroom!"  He  ambled  off  down  the  walk  on  his 
shaky  old  legs,  leaving  Em  alone  on  the  porch;  for 
Rose  had  vanished  into  the  house  at  the  first  word 
about  Lois  and  Philip.  She  felt  that  she  could  not 
bear  to  hear  the  matter  discussed  by  any  one;  least  of 
all  by '  old  Root. 

"Has  he  gone,  Aunty  ?"  came  a  sweet  voice  through 
the  window. 

"Yes,  my  bird,"  answered  Em,  jumping  up  with 
alacrity.  "Let  Aunty  help  you  out  agin!"  And  a  few 
minutes  later,  the  jarring  element  forgotten,  things 
resumed  their  usual  appearance  of  serenity.  Em 
stitched  steadily  on  a  shirt  for  Charles  Reuben;  Rose 
lying  quite  still  and  gazing  thoughtfully  up  into  the 
cool,  leafy  green  depths — seemingly  infinite — made  by 
the  thick  branches  of  the  huge  maple  trees  close  by  the 
house. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

LOIS   AND   PHILIP 

IT  was  a  depressed  household  at  the  doctor's. 

Lois'  father  and  mother  had  received  a  heavy  blow 
to  their  ambition  when  their  daughter  failed  to  grad 
uate;  and  although  they  said  no  word  of  their  disap 
pointment  to  her,  it  was  the  more  keen  because  they 
tried  to  shield  her,  as  usual,  from  all  that  was  unpleas 
ant. 

Lois  realized  this  in  a  vague  way;  but  her  whole 
mind  was  absorbed  by  something,  to  her,  much  more 
overwhelming. 

Philip  Eden  had  been  home  from  his  vacation  two 
days  and  had  not,  yet,  been  near  Lois. 

Dr.  and  Mrs.  Sessions  could  not  account  for  this, 
accepting,  as  they  did,  the  Village's  verdict  that  the 
flourishing  intimacy  between  the  two  must  mean  a 
love  affair ;  but  they  put  it  down  to  a  lovers'  quarrel. 

Apparently  Lois  herself  had  had  every  expectation 
of  Philip's  coming  to  her  the  moment  he  returned ;  for 
on  the  evening  that  the  stage  brought  him  back,  she 
arrayed  herself  in  her  very  prettiest  gown,  of  laven- 

250 


LOIS  AND  PHILIP  251 

der  batiste,  and  sat  waiting  for  him  on  the  steps  of  the 
porch  until  at  last  pride  drove  her  into  the  house  and 
to  the  piano,  where  she  attacked  the  keys  furiously, 
for  an  hour  or  more. 

When  the  twenty-four  hours  had  gone  around  again 
and  still  no  Philip  appeared,  she  grew  desperate. 

The  doctor  and  his  wife  longed  to  help  her  in  her 
trouble,  and  consulted  together;  but  neither  dared  say 
anything  to  the  girl,  until  she  sheuld  open  the  subject. 

"It's  best  not  to  mix  in  lovers'  quarrels,"  said  the 
doctor.  "Many's  the  match  that  has  been  broken  up 
just  by  a  person  trying  to  be  peacemaker.  If  they're 
left  to  themselves  one  or  the  other  of  them  will  come 
'round — I  only  hope  it  will  be  Lois,  for  I  think  we've 
let  the  girl  have  her  head  a  little  too  much.  Knowing 
them  both  so  well,  I'm  afraid  she  may  be  in  the 
wrong." 

"But  don't  you  think  it's  dreadful  for  them  to  have 
words,  Doctor?  When  they've  only  known  each  other 
such  a  short  time,  too?"  inquired  Mrs.  Sessions  anx 
iously. 

"You  and  I  didn't,  dear,"  answered  the  doctor  pat 
ting  her  cheek,  "but,  you  see,  Lois  is  different — she's 
high  strung,  naturally — and  just  now  she  is  very  nerv 
ous — and  she  never  will  be  as  gentle  as  you,  though 
she's  a  dear  girl  and  as  clever  as  they  make  'em !" 


252         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

It  did  not  occur  to  them  as  odd  that  not  once  did 
they  think  of  the  fault  as  lying  with  Mr.  Eden. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day  after  Philip's 
return,  Lois  could  stand  the  state  of  things  no  longer. 
Putting  her  pride  in  her  pocket,  she  went  straight  to 
the  parsonage. 

The  front  door  was  wide  open,  to  let  in  the  warm 
June  air;  and  through  it,  as  she  came  up  the  shallow 
steps,  Lois  could  see  the  minister  sitting  at  his  big 
desk,  in  his  study,  at  the  left  of  the  entrance  hall. 

Her  heart  gave  a  great  thump  as  she  glimpsed  the 
familiar  head,  with  its  bent  brow,  supported  by  one 
strong,  young  hand  and  arm. 

A  half-written  sermon  lay  before  the  minister;  but 
the  hand  with  the  pen  in  it  was  not  moving,  and,  as  the 
young  man  sat,  unconscious  of  her  presence,  the  ex 
pression  in  his  eyes  was  the  saddest  she  had  ever  seen 
there. 

The  girl  paused  an  instant  on  the  threshold,  more 
frightened  than  ever  she  had  been  in  her  life,  and  yet 
with  no  thought  of  retracing  her  steps.  As  she  stood, 
breathless,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  man  she  now  knew 
meant  all  the  world  to  her,  her  parasol  slipped  from 
her  nerveless  fingers  and  fell  to  the  floor  with  a  clatter. 

At  the  sound,  Philip  started  up  as  if  wakened  from 
a  dream;  then,  seeing  Lois,  he  rose. 


LOIS  AND  PHILIP  253 

They  gazed  at  each  other,  speechless,  for  several 
seconds.  A  look  almost  of  horror  crept  into  the  man's 
eyes. 

Lois  saw  it,  and  held  out  her  hands  to  him. 

"Philip,"  she  said,  in  a  tremulous  voice,  "I  came  to 
see  you — I  couldn't  bear  it  any  longer — Aren't  you 
glad  to  see  me?" 

Still,  he  looked  at  her,  seemed  to  look  through  her — 
powerless,  apparently,  to  speak.  At  last  his  voice 
came — 

"No,"  he  said  slowly.  "No,  I'm  not  glad  to  see 
you — but  you'll  be  glad  to  learn  that  I've  fixed  every 
thing  so  you'll  not  have  to  bear  the  consequences  of 
your  sin — and  your  parents  will  never  have  to  know — " 

"Philip!"  the  girl  cried,  hurrying  toward  him  and 
clasping  his  arm  as  if  fearful  that  he  might  leave  her 
alone.  "Philip,  why  are  you  treating  me  so?  Why  do 
you  feel  that  way  toward  me  ?  Is  it  on  account  of  that 
silly  business  on  the  stairs  at  Em  Ufford's?  You 
ought  not  to  lay  that  up  against  me — you  know  that 
I'm  sorry  for  everything  I  said!  Surely  you've  pun 
ished  me  enough — and  you  had  your  way,  anyway— 
you  -went!" 

"Yes,"  he  said  in  a  grim  tone,  "I  went." 

"Well,  what  is  it,  then?"  she  insisted,  clinging  to  his 
arm  as  he  turned  away  from  her.  "I  tell  you  I'm  sorry 


254        THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

— so  sorry — I  was  horrid,  on  the  stairs — I  didn't  mean 
anything  I  said — " 

"Lois,"  interrupted  the  minister  gravely,  unclasping 
her  clinging  hands  and  holding  her  opposite  him  by  her 
two  arms.  "You  know  as  well  as  I  do  what  the  mat 
ter  is — you  know  that  that  foolish  discussion  on  the 
stairs  had  nothing  to  do  with  it ;  except  that  it  shows 
you  tried  to — deceive  me — as  long  as  possible!  You 
know  that's  not  the  real  thing.  For  Heaven's  sake,  let's 
not  have  any  more  deceit !" 

He  dropped  her  arms,  wearily,  and  Lois,  her  face 
now  as  white  as  his,  stood,  a  shaking  hand  resting 
lightly  on  the  nearby  desk. 

"Why  must  one  prolong  the  thing?"  said  Philip 
dully.  "It  seems  to  me  there's  nothing  to  be  said." 

Still,  she  stood  as  before. 

"If  you  have  something  you  must  say,  won't  you  sit 
down  ?"  he  added  gently. 

She  sat  down  in  his  desk  chair,  mechanically;  and 
as  she  did  so  her  gaze  fell  on  a  photograph  of  Rose 
Warren.  It  was  only  an  enlarged  snapshot,  that  Philip 
himself  had  taken;  but  it  looked  none  the  less  im 
portant  in  the  place  of  honor — the  center  of  the  desk. 

"There  is  a  lot  to  be  said,"  Lois  cried  passionately. 
"You  make  so  much  of  such  a  little — such  a  very 
little  thing!" 


LOIS  AND  PHILIP  23? 

The  minister  came  over  and  stood  by  her,  taking  her 
hand. 

"Lois,"  he  said  sadly,  "is  it  a  little  thing?    Think!" 

"It's  a  little  thing  in  comparison  to  the  way  you  take 
it — I  never  thought  you  would  be  like  this !" 

She  fumbled  for  her  handkerchief,  choking  back 
the  sobs  that  would  come  in  spite  of  her. 

There  were  tears  in  Philip's  eyes  too,  as  he  said, 
still  holding  her  hand : 

"My  dear  child,  the  very  fact  that  you  can  regard 
this  as  a  little  thing  shows  how  different  our  points  of 
view  must  always  be.  It  is  not  a  little  thing — " 

"Philip — Philip!"  came  a  heart-broken  cry  from 
Lois.  "Do  you  realize  what  you  are  saying?  You're 
treating  me  like  a  criminal!  You  seem  to  have  for 
gotten  that  you  promised  to  help  me!  Look  at  me — 
I  want  to  be  good,  like  other  girls!  I  want  to  please 
you — to  make  you  proud  of  me — and  I  can,  if  you'll 
only  help  me  to  start  afresh !" 

"How  can  I  help  you,  now?"  Philip  asked  sadly. 
"You  were  not  fair  with  me — you  told  me  one  lie 
after  another,  until  you  had  all  my  sympathy.  You  are 
not  sincere  in  your  repentance,  even  now — you  are  only 
afraid  of  the  consequences." 

Lois  sank  deeper  into  her  chair,  and  leaned  her  head 
against  the  desk  in  mute  anguish. 


256        THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

"You  poor  child,"  went  on  Philip.  "You've  taken 
away  the  only  weapon  with  which  I  might  fight  for 
you — by  playing  double  with  me.  When  I  went  to 
Elizabeth  with  the  pitiful  story  you  had  told  me,  and 
my  solution  of  the  whole  miserable  business,  she 
showed  me  that  you  had  been  making  a  fool  of  me !" 

"That's  not  true,"  Lois  said  in  a  muffled  tone.  "I 
did  misrepresent  some  things — I  suppose  I  was  a  cow 
ard  about  it.  I  know,  now,  it  was  because  I — I  cared 
about  you !  I — " 

"Oh,  no!"  interrupted  Philip  hurriedly.  "Don't  say 
that !  You  don't  know  what  you're  saying !" 

"I  do,"  contradicted  the  girl  vehemently.  "I'm  tell 
ing  you  the  whole  truth  this  time.  I — I  love  you — and 
I  don't  care  who  knows  it !  That's  why  I  came  to  you 
for  help !  That's  why  I  lied  to  you — and  why  I  didn't 
want  you  to  see  Miss  Eden;  it  was  a  little  because  I 
was  afraid  you  wouldn't  help  me;  but  it  was  mostly 
because  I  was  afraid  you  wouldn't  love  me  if  you  knew 
the  real  truth !" 

"You  mustn't  say  such  things,  child,"  cried  the  man. 
"You're  excited  now,  and  you'll  be  so  sorry  after 
ward  !  And  I  cannot  listen  to  them !  You  would  never 
be  happy  with  me ;  our  outlook  is  too  different !  You'll 
realize  that  when  you've  had  time  to  think  things 


LOIS  AND  PHILIP  257 

"But  I  have  thought — "  Lois  insisted.  "I — I  can't 
live  without  you!  I — " 

"Besides,"  Philip  interrupted  gently,  "there  is  an 
other  reason — "  involuntarily  his  eyes  rested  on  Rose's 
picture,  and  Lois  intercepted  the  look  in  them.  "I 
couldn't — "  he  came  to  a  halt. 

"You  were  going  to  say  you  couldn't  love  me  be 
cause  you  love  some  one  else!"  she  half  sobbed,  "but 
I  suppose  you  thought  it  would  be  kinder  to  say  noth 
ing.  Don't  bother  to  be  kind  to  me." 

"I  told  you  we  could  never  understand  each  other," 
said  Philip,  horribly  ill  at  ease;  "that's  why  it  would 
have  been  so  much  better  if  you  had  not  come  here  to 
day.  Let  us  try  to  forget  all  this — we  shall  only  get 
into  a  worse  tangle — I've  helped  you  all  I  can — " 

Lois  pulled  herself  up  and  sat  straight  in  her  chair, 
turning  to  face  the  minister  squarely.  Her  eyes  shone 
bright  and  hard. 

"Is  this  all?"  she  queried  in  a  flinty  voice.  "Do  I 
understand  that  you  are  going  to  have  nothing  more 
to  do  with  me  after  I  have  bared  my  heart  to  you? 
And  this  is  what  you  call  Christian  Charity !"  cried  the 
girl  scornfully,  rising  as  she  spoke.  Her  eyes  blazed 
and  the  color  rushed  into  her  cheeks  as  she  turned 
toward  the  door. 

"Don't  go  like  this,  please,"  Philip  said,  stung  by 


258        THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

her  words.  "It  is  your  happiness,  not  mine,  that  I  am 
thinking  of,  believe  me.  Won't  you  shake  hands  and 
say  good-by — " 

"No— I  might  contaminate  your  saintship!"  re 
torted  Lois. 

Then  she  replaced  a  loosened  side  comb  and  straight 
ened  her  hat,  lest  inquisitive  neighbors  suspect  anything 
of  her  agitation. 

Philip  followed  her  to  the  door  and,  picking  up  her 
parasol  from  the  floor,  gave  it  to  her  mechanically. 
She  took  it  without  a  word,  and,  as  the  man  watched 
her,  went  slowly  down  the  path,  unfurling  the  parasol 
with  a  graceful  gesture  as  she  walked. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  DOCTOR   MEDDLES 

Lois  was  calm  enough  until  she  got  into  her  own 
yard.  Then  she  went  to  pieces.  Flaming  with  hu 
miliation  and  rage,  she  threw  sanity  aside,  and  was 
gripped  by  the  stark,  babyish  need  for  help.  Some  one 
must  help  her,  somehow.  It  did  not  matter  how.  She 
began  to  cry. 

Rushing  across  the  grass  and  into  the  house,  she 
burst  into  the  doctor's  study ;  and,  snatching  a  vial  out 
of  his  hand,  as  he  was  in  the  act  of  mixing  some  medi 
cine,  she  pushed  it  quickly  across  the  table,  forcing  her 
father  to  give  her  his  whole  attention. 

"Father,  listen!"  she  cried.  "I'm  in  dreadful 
trouble ! — Philip  has — Philip  says  he  doesn't  love  me — 
when  he — he  knows  how  much  I  love  him !" 

"Mr.  Eden — says  that — "  repeated  the  doctor  in 
amazement. 

"Yes,  he — he  says  he — and  just  for  a  silly  little 
quarrel !  I — " 

"Begin  at  the  beginning  and  tell  me  all  about  it, 
girl,"  said  her  father  tenderly,  drawing  her  to  him. 

259 


2<5o        THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

"Oh,  I  can't — I  just  can't  go  into  details!  But  I 
told  him  I  was  sorry  for  my  part  of  it  and — " 

"But  surely,  if  you  said  you  were  sorry — " 

"I  told  him  so,  over  and  over  again,  but  nothing 
makes  any  difference — it's  all  done  with,  for  good  and 
all!" 

"You're  talking  nonsense,  Baby,"  said  the  doctor. 
"Philip  Eden  is  a  grown  man.  He  certainly  woul(f 
not  give  you  up  or  let  you  give  him  up,  if  you  love 
each  other,  just  for  a  few  hasty  words.  Tell  me  what 
was  said,  Lois.  Can't  you  be  frank  with  your  old 
father?" 

"I  tell  you  there  was  nothing  worth  speaking  about  !" 
cried  Lois.  "He's  as  obstinate  as  can  be!  I  can  no 
more  move  him  than  a  rock !" 

"Well,  that's  not  a  bad  quality  in  him,  I'm  thinking. 
You  must  have  said  something  that  hurt  him  deeply, 
little  girl — you  know  you're  hasty.  Delia  and  I  don't 
mind  it  because  we  understand  through  it  all  what  a 
precious  girl  you  are;  but  he  hasn't  known  you  as  long 
as  we  have,  and  I'm  afraid  you  must  have  said  some 
thing  you  oughtn't.  Think  now,  didn't  you?"  he 
coaxed.  "Father  only  wants  to  help  you!" 

"No,  I  did  not!"  answered  Lois,  drawing  away,  "and 
I  shouldn't  think  you'd  side  against  your  own  flesh 
and  blood!" 


THE  DOCTOR  MEDDLES  261 

The  doctor's  blue  eyes  had  a  slight  expression  of 
pain  in  them. 

"A  man  isn't  necessarily  perfect  just  because  he's  a 
minister!  Oh,  is  there  no  one  to  help  me?"  she  ex 
claimed.  "I  never  thought  you'd  go  back  on  me !" 

"I'm  not  going  back  on  you,  daughter,"  the  doctor 
put  his  arm  about  her,  "but  I'm  groping  for  facts.  Tell 
me  once  more — you're  keeping  so  much  back!" 

"No,  no,  no!  I'm  keeping  nothing  back  that  has 
any  bearing  on  the  matter  between  us!  I  can't  tell 
you  all  the  foolish  things  he  said  and  I  said  and — what 
happened  before.  I  can  only  repeat  just  what  I  said 
before  we  separated — I  said  I  was  sorry — he  wouldn't 
even  say  that!  And  now  he  says  we  never  could  be 
happy — and  we  mustn't  be  married!  You  still  look  as 
if  you  didn't  understand  me!  Don't  you  believe  me? 
Do  you  doubt  my  word  ?" 

"No,"  said  the  doctor  slowly,  "I  don't  doubt  you — 
of  course  not ;  but  my  old  head  is  in  a  whirl.  I  cannot 
conceive  what  ails  the  fellow !  I  never  would  have  be 
lieved  it  of  him!" 

"Oh,  Daddy !  I  can  not  bear  it  1"  cried  the  girl,  put 
ting  her  head  down  on  her  father's  shoulder  and  sob 
bing  convulsively.  A  moment  more  and  a  fresh  parox 
ysm  of  weeping  shook  her. 

The  doctor  wisely  let  her  have  her  cry  out,  saying 


262         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

nothing,  but  patting  her  arm  and  kissing  the  top  of  her 
head  softly,  now  and  then. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  she  moaned.  "I  can  never, 
never  bear  it !  Can't  you  do  anything  for  me,  father  ?" 
she  went  on  hysterically,  aimlessly,  as  she  sat  up  and 
pushed  her  hair  out  of  her  eyes.  "You're  the  biggest 
man.  You  can,  can't  you?"  This  last  with  childish 
faith  in  her  father's  powers. 

"What  am  I  here  for,  but  to  fight  your  battles,  my 
darling?"  said  her  father.  "If  it  comes  to  that,  I  don't 
think  we  need  fear  the  outcome,"  he  added  with  a 
gleam  in  his  mild  eyes.  "But  I  hope  it  won't  have  to 
come  to  that — I  think  he  will  see  reason  all  right." 

"No,  he  never,  never  will,  father,"  said  Lois  de 
cidedly.  "I  humbled  myself  before  him  as  I  never  be 
lieved  I  could  humble  myself  for  any  one — I  begged 
him  to  marry  me — yes,  I  did.  I'm  ashamed  of  it — 
maybe  it  was  unwomanly — I  suppose  it  was — but  I 
can't  help  it,"  her  words  rushed  on.  "I  love  him  so, 
it  will  just  kill  me  to  give  him  up !  He'll  go  and  marry 
some  sanctimonious  angel  whom  he'll  think  perfect  and 
she  won't  know  how  to  make  him  half  as  happy  as  I 
can  make  him!  Oh,  Daddy,  do  something — do  some* 
thing!"  she  cried,  jumping  up  as  she  spoke.  "Don't 
sit  there  looking  at  me — can't  you  see  that  I'm  fairly 


THE  DOCTOR  MEDDLES  263 

torn  in  pieces?"  she  almost  shrieked,  her  voice  rising 
higher  and  higher. 

The  doctor  got  up  and  calmly  poured  out  a  dose  of 
aromatic  ammonia. 

"Drink  this,"  he  said  quietly,  "and  get  hold  of  your 
self;  there  must  be  no  hysterics.  Sit  down  in  that 
chair  there  until  you  are  more  like  yourself.  This  is 
not  my  self-contained  daughter  that  is  shrieking  at 
me,  but  an  insane  child  who  is  at  her  wits'  end.  Now 
go  upstairs  and  lie  down.  We'll  talk  about  this  when 
you're  quieter." 

When  she  had  gone,  the  doctor  stood  very  still  for 
perhaps  five  minutes,  in  the  center  of  the  little  room 
which  his  giant  presence  always  dwarfed.  Then,  mov 
ing  with  a  slowness  that  spoke  more  clearly  of  repres 
sion  than  did  his  iron  tight  lips,  he  left  the  house. 


DANNY,   AGAIN 

PHILIP  had  looked  after  Lois  as  she  walked  down 
the  pathway,  and  as  he  thought,  out  of  his  life.  A 
delicate  violet  fragrance,  caused  by  the  swish  of  her 
dainty  lavender  frock,  was  wafted  back  to  him. 

He  stood  watching  her  from  the  doorway,  until  she 
turned  in  at  her  own  home.  Then  slowly  he  went  back 
to  his  neglected  sermon;  but  the  sermon  refused  to  be 
written.  Try  as  he  would,  his  mind  could  not  rid  it 
self  of  the  picture  of  a  beautiful,  tear-stained  face 
framed  in  a  tangle  of  golden  hair.  He  seemed  to  see 
Lois  everywhere;  and  to  hear  the  tones  of  her  voice,— 
first  pleading  and  then  angry  and  unpleasant. 

Finally  he  turned  for  relief  to  the  sweet,  strong  face 
of  the  girl  he  loved. 

Leaning  both  elbows  on  the  table  and  cradling  his 
square  chin  on  his  closed  fists,  he  gazed  intently  at  the 
picture,  forgetting  his  sermon  and  all  else,  in  his  deep 
absorption. 

It  was  thus  the  doctor  found  him. 

Hearing  a  step,  Philip  looked  up  to  find  the  huge 
264 


DANNY,  AGAIN  265 

form  of  Dr.  Sessions  filling  his  low,  old-fashioned 
doorway  from  top  to  bottom.  The  doctor  was  hatless 
and  his  thick,  white  hair  stood  up  as  straight  as  its 
fluffy  nature  would  allow,  his  whiskers  breezing  out 
at  the  side,  as  if  charged  with  electricity. 

His  hands  were  plunged  deep  in  his  pockets  in  a 
business-like  way,  and  he  surveyed  the  younger  man 
with  eyes  that  smouldered  darkly,  under  his  bushy 
brows. 

Philip  rose  and  went  forward  to  greet  his  guest  with 
outstretched  hand;  but  the  doctor  did  not  remove  his 
own  clenched  hands  from  his  pockets;  and  the  color 
slowly  crept  up  toward  Philip's  forehead. 

At  last  the  doctor  spoke — and  his  voice  had  in  it 
that  which  would  have  startled  a  less  brave  man. 

"You're  a  nice  minister,  aren't  you?"  were  his 
words. 

"This  is  a  strange  greeting,  Doctor,  between  two 
such  firm  friends  as  you  and  I  have  always  been,"  said 
the  minister. 

"Friends!  Yes,  we  have  been  friends.  At  least  I 
have  been  your  friend ;  and  I  think  have  not  failed  when 
you  needed  me  most.  You  have  returned  this  friend 
ship  by  first  obtaining  the  love  of  my  daughter,  and 
then  flinging  it  back  in  her  face.  Now,  please  answer 
for  yourself  I  I  am  waiting." 


266         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

"I  know  what  you  must  think  of  me,  Doctor,"  Philip 
said. 

"No,  you  don't!"  said  the  other.  "You  can't  pos 
sibly  imagine  the  way  I  feel  toward  a  man — who'll 
treat  an  innocent  kid  of  a  girl  as  you've  just  treated 
Lois!  I'm  her  father,  boy,"  (tapping  his  mighty 
chest).  "Just  think  of  that,  and  then  see  whether 
you've  sized  up  my  feelings  right !" 

"I'm  inexpressibly  sorry  that  I've  made  you  angry, 
sir.  Believe  me,  my  own  sorrow  over  this  miser 
able  trouble  is  as  great — I  think  greater  than 
hers." 

"Then  what  the  devil  is  it  all  about?"  said  the  doc 
tor  in  amazement. 

"Didn't  Lois  tell  you?"  asked  Philip  blankly. 

"She  said  that  you  and  she  quarreled,  and  that  she 
said  she  was  sorry;  and  that  you  would  not  forgive 
her,  and  you  had  broken  with  her — you  had  broken 
with  her — is  that  true?" 

"It  is  true  that  circumstances  have  made  it  impos 
sible  for  us  to  understand  each  other — but  I  did  not 
make  the  circumstances — I  had  nothing  to  do  with 
them.  Lois  was — mistaken  when  she  told  you  that  a 
quarrel  was  the  cause  of  the  trouble." 

"Then  what  was  the  cause?  Let's  have  no  more 
beating  about  the  bush." 


DANNY,  AGAIN  267 

"If  Lois  hasn't  told  you,  I  can't  tell  you." 

"Can't  tell  me?  Nonsense!  That's  a  fool's  an 
swer  !" 

All  the  muscles  in  the  minister's  body  tightened  sud 
denly,  at  this  challenge;  and  at  its  tone  which  was 
more  than  a  kick.  The  pulses  in  his  temples  and 
throat  beat  visibly;  but  he  held  himself  in  hand,  and 
forced  himself  to  speak  calmly. 

"Bandying  insults  is  not  my  profession,  Doctor  Ses 
sions,"  he  said. 

"No,  but  breaking  girls'  hearts  is,  hey?  Give  me 
the  reason!" 

It  is  doubtful  if  the  good  doctor  had  been  in  such 
a  towering  rage  before,  in  all  his  massively  calm  life. 
His  fingers  clasped  and  unclasped,  till  for  self-control's 
sake  he  folded  his  arms  tightly. 

"I've  not  broken  anybody's  heart — at  any  rate,  not 
your  daughter's,"  Philip  said  resolutely.  "Doctor,  I'd 
give  anything  in  the  world  to  set  this  straight,  but  the 
secret  is  not  mine  to  tell.  I  cannot  do  it — I  haven't 
the  right!" 

"Damn  the  right !  Have  you  no  manhood,  no  sense 
of  decency?  Is  my  girl  to  go  about  branded  as  an 
article  that  nobody  wants?  Once  more,  sir — are  you 
going  to  tell  me  your  idiotic  reason,  or  not?" 

"No!" 


268         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

"Then  to  hell  with  you!"  thundered  the  doctor. 
"Since  you  haven't  the  manhood  to — " 

There  was  a  violent  ring  at  the  doorbell.  Philip 
glanced  uncertainly  at  the  doctor,  knowing  that  the 
one  and  only  woman-of -all-work  was  out. 

The  doctor  nodded  curtly.  "Go  on,"  he  said. 
"You'll  find  me  waiting  when  you  get  back — " 

It  was  Rose  Warren,  and  she  had  come  for  the  doc 
tor. 

"They  told  me  at  your  house  that  you  were  here," 
she  panted,  brushing  by  the  minister.  "Danny's  just 
fallen  out  of  a  tree!  I — I  don't  think  his  leg  is 
broken,  but  it  may  be,  and  I  don't  in  the  least  know 
what  to  do  for  him.  I  can't  find  any  liniment  or  any 
thing  of  that  kind  at  home,  and  you  know  Aunt  Em 
and  Charles  Reuben  aren't  back  from  their  trip  yet — 
Can't  you  come,  right  now  ?  The  poor  boy  is  suffering 
so.  Here's  your  medicine  case — I  thought  I'd  save 
time  by  getting  it  from  Mrs.  Sessions." 

The  matter  certainly  seemed  urgent. 

And  as  the  doctor  was  a  doctor  above  all  else,  he 
hurried  off,  still  hatless;  with  Rose  beside  him,  trying 
to  keep  pace  with  his  long  strides. 

Danny's  accident  did  not  prove  to  be  serious,  and 
before  long  his  strained  leg  was  comfortably  bandaged. 

"How  are  you  getting  on,  Rose?"  said  the  doctor, 


DANNY,  AGAIN  269 

methodically  putting  back  his  liniment,  cotton,  etc., 
each  in  their  allotted  space  in  his  medicine  case. 

"Oh,  I'm  beginning  to  feel  very  strong  again,"  an 
swered  Rose.  "Aunty  will  find  a  great  change  in  me, 
even  in  the  few  days  she  has  been  away." 

"When  do  you  expect  her  back?" 

"Let  me  see — this  is  Tuesday — I  hope  she  won't 
come  before  Friday  or  Saturday;  I  want  them  to  have 
a  really  nice  vacation." 

"Well,  little  woman,"  said  the  doctor,  putting  his 
hand  under  her  chin,  "don't  overwork,  now  you  are 
'head  cook  and  bottle  washer.'  The  roses  are  back 
in  your  cheeks  again,  and  I  want  them  to  stay 
there!" 

Then,  with  a  change  of  tone: 

"Now,  young  man,  you  stay  put,  do  you  hear?" 
turning  on  Danny  a  look  of  mock  severity.  "I  don't 
want  you  making  any  trouble  for  your  sister.  Your 
leg  will  be  all  right  in  a  day  or  two,  if  you  don't  try 
any  tricks  with  it.  Good-by !" 

It  was  later  than  the  doctor  had  thought;  and  after 
leaving  his  little  patient,  he  decided  that  he  would  not 
go  back  to  Mr.  Eden's  until  evening;  for  there  was 
sure  to  be  a  straggling  lot  of  people,  walking  by  the 
parsonage  to  or  from  the  Post  Office,  just  at  this  hour. 
Somehow,  he  could  not  feel  so  unreasoningly  bitter 


270         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

toward  the  younger  man,  now  that  he  had  had  time  to 
calm  down. 

"The  boy  certainly  didn't  look  as  though  he  had 
done  anything  to  be  ashamed  of,"  mused  the  doctor  as 
he  walked  on.  "Just  the  same — "  He  left  the  mut 
tered  sentence  unfinished,  except  for  a  grunt  of  angry 
perplexity. 


CHAPTER  XXV 
"WHEN  THE  CAT'S  AWAY" 

PHILIP  waited  some  time  for  the  doctor  to  come 
back;  but  when  he  finally  saw  him  turn  into  his  own 
yard  instead  of  toward  the  parsonage,  the  minister 
took  his  hat  and  hastily  made  his  way  toward  the  old 
Ufford  house,  to  find  out,  on  his  own  account,  how 
badly  Danny  was  hurt — at  least,  he  tried  to  pretend 
to  himself  that  that  was  his  errand. 

Rose,  looking  through  the  window,  as  he  came  up 
the  path,  began  to  feel  decidedly  nervous;  for  when 
she  had  burst  in  upon  the  men,  she  could  not  help  see 
ing,  in  spite  of  her  own  agitation,  that  something  was 
very  much  amiss  between  them — and  somehow  she 
knew  instinctively,  that  it  had  to  do  with  Lois. 

Both  she  and  Philip  were  painfully  conscious  that 
it  was  the  first  time  they  had  been  alone  together  in 
many  weeks.  The  first  time  that  Em  had  not  been 
there  to  pounce  upon  and  dominate  the  situation,  in 
a  jealously  mistaken  idea  that  she  was  doing  Rose  a 
service. 

271 


272         THE  EYES  "OF  THE  VILLAGE 

"I  just  came  up  to  find  out  about  Danny,"  said 
Philip  in  uncomfortably  formal  explanation. 

"He  really  got  off  much  too  easily,  I'm  afraid,"  an 
swered  the  girl  smiling  and  outwardly  calm,  though  the 
heightened  color  in  her  cheeks  told  its  own  tale.  "I 
hoped  the  little  monkey  would  have  to  keep  still  long 
enough  to  make  him  realize  the  virtue  of  being  care 
ful — but  Doctor  says  he'll  be  around  in  no  time  at  all ! 
That's  where  he  had  climbed  to,  when  he  fell!"  (point 
ing  upward  to  the  dizzy  heights  of  a  tall  slender  cherry 
tree  nearby).  "Do  you  wonder  that  he  came  near 
breaking  his  bones?" 

"The  miracle  is  that  he  has  any  bones  left  at  all," 
answered  Philip. 

"Won't  you — er — sit  on  the  porch,  a  little  while? 
You  look  tired — really  very  tired,"  Rose  added 
timidly. 

It  was  so  hard  to  know  what  to  say,  under  the  cir 
cumstances.  She  did  long  to  comfort  him  in  some  way, 
for  his  eyes  were  tragically  full  of  the  trouble  of  which 
she  knew  nothing. 

"I  hope  you  didn't  mind  very  much,  my  breaking 
in  on  Doctor  and  you — I  got  away  into  the  room 
before  I  realized  that  there  was — was  anything  hap 
pening;  and  then  the  only  thing  seemed  to  be  to  go  on 


"WHEN  THE  CAT'S  AWAY"  273 

with  my  errand — especially  when  Danny  was  suffer 
ing  so!  Please  don't  think  it  rude  of  me — "  (with  a 
pretty  little  gesture  of  pleading). 

"You  could  never  be  rude,  Rose.  And  I  think  your 
coming  at  that  particular  moment  was  more  a  bless 
ing  than  anything  else.  I've  incurred  the  doctor's  very 
gravest  displeasure — and — "  (with  a  whimsical  look) 
"it  was  time  for  some  one  to  interfere.  I'm  afraid  we 
were  both  pretty  angry — and  altogether  it  was  sort  of 
trying,"  he  finished  awkwardly. 

"Oh — I'm  so  very  sorry  for  you — and  for  him  too, 
for  he  must  have  thought  he  was  in  the  right,  even  if 
he  really  wasn't.  Could — couldn't  any  one  make  up 
the  quarrel?  Is  there  anything  I  could  tell  him  for 
you,  that  you  don't  feel  like  telling  him  yourself?" 

The  soft  brown  eyes  looked  into  his,  very  earnestly, 
and  a  sympathizing  hand  was  laid  unconsciously  on 
his  arm  to  emphasize  the  willingness  of  its  owner  to 
help  every  one  in  trouble.  It  seemed  very  strange  in 
deed  that  they  should  both  be  sitting  there,  almost 
tongue-tied,  when  their  hearts  had  so  much  to  tell 
each  other  that  they  were  nearly  bursting! 

"You  are  a  wonderful  little  friend  for  a  man  to 
have,"  said  Philip,  his  voice  shaking  a  bit,  "but  I'm 
afraid  there  is  nothing  any  one  can  do;  the  Doctor  is 


274         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

probably  finished  with  me  forever — he  thinks  I'm  a 
blackguard,  you  know,"  smiling  ruefully. 

"Don't  make  light  of  it  to  me,"  went  on  the  girl.  "I 
know  you're  all  broken  up  about  the  affair,  what 
ever  it  is — and  I  know  how  fond  you  are  of  Doctor, 
and  how  you  must  feel  if  you  have  made  him  have 
unkind  thoughts  toward  you." 

"You  always  did  have  a  way  of  divining  one's 
feelings,  so  I  see  it's  no  use  to  'pretend/  as  my  sister 
and  I  used  to  say  when  we  were  children.  And  al 
though  I  cannot  tell  you  my  trouble — for  it  is  a  very 
real  trouble — still  your  sympathy  has  done  me  a  world 
of  good.  I  can't  tell  you  how  horribly  alone  I  felt, 
ten  minutes  ago!" 

Rose's  face  lighted  up  beautifully,  and  Em,  if  she 
had  been  there,  would  have  said,  as  she  did  on  her 
wedding  day,  that  the  girl  looked  like  one  of  God's 
angels. 

All  Rose  answered  was — "It's  not  the  least  bit 
nice  to  feel  alone — and  so  I'm  going  to  be  unconven 
tional  and  suggest  that  I  walk  down  toward  the  Post 
Office  with  you!" 

She  stood  up,  as  she  spoke,  and  Philip  followed  her 
example. 

"I've  got  to  get  my  mail  anyway,  now  Danny  is 
laid  up  and  cannot  be  errand  boy."  Rose  went  on, 


"WHEN  THE  CAT'S  AWAY"  275 

talking  against  time.  "There's  a  shower  coming,  I'm 
afraid,  so  perhaps  it  would  be  best  for  us  to  start 
now." 

"Rose,"  Philip  burst  out  abruptly,  "I  can't  stand 
this  sort  of  thing  any  longer.  Did  you  ever  get  a  letter 
I  wrote  you — two  days  before  my  Examination?  Tell 
me,  did  you  get  it?  If  you  did,  I  won't  bother  you 
any  more — but  I  just  want  to  be  sure  it  reached 
you!" 

"Letter?"  exclaimed  Rose  in  astonishment,  as  soon 
as  she  could  break  in  on  Philip's  long  pent-up  flow 
of  words.  "I  didn't  receive  any  letter!" 

"Thank  the  Lord!"  cried  Philip,  laughing  boyishly 
in  his  relief. 

"Was  it  such  a  dreadful  letter  as  all  that?"  ques 
tioned  Rose,  laughing  a  little,  too,  though  entirely 
mystified. 

"No — that  is,  yes!"  said  Philip  incoherently.  "Let 
me  come  into  the  house  a  minute;  I'll  tell  you  what 
was  in  it." 

So  they  went  into  Em's  prim  little  parlor — now 
much  less  prim  than  of  yore — and  then,  holding  Rose's 
hands  and  looking  down  into  her  eyes,  (luckily  Em 
was  too  far  away  to  interfere  this  time)  he  told 
her. 

"The  letter,"  he  began,  "just  said: — 'I  love  you — 


276         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

and  I  want  you  to  marry  me — and  struggle  along  with 
me,  poor  as  I  am — a3  soon  as  I'm  ordained, — for  I  can 
not  look  up  in  any  direction  without  finding  you  just 
ahead  of  me — '  " 

"But — "  Rose  interrupted  uncertainly — "I  thought 
— every  one  thinks,  you're  engaged  to  Lois  Sessions !" 

"Lois  Sessions'!  Never  in  a  thousand  years!"  and 
he  tightened  his  grip  on  the  two  little  hands  in  his. 
"It's  just  you  I  want — have  always  wanted !" 

"But  you  and  she — " 

"I  know,"  interrupted  Philip.  "I  can't  tell  you 
about  Lois — it's  her  secret,  not  mine;  but  you'll  just 
have  to  trust  me  when  I  tell  you  that  there  has  never 
been  a  word  of  love  or  anything  like  it  betwee — that 
I  never  spoke  or  thought  one  word  of  love  to  her  or 
about  her!" 

"Of  course  I  trust  you;  but — but  why,  if  you  were 
not  in  love  with  Lois,  did  you  stop  coming  to  see 
me?"  asked  Rose  blankly. 

"Why  ?  Because  Miss  Em  forbade  me  the  house — • 
that's  why !" 

"Aunt  Em  forbade  you  the  house?"  Rose  repeated 
slowly. 

"She  surely  did — and  she  never  gave  me  a  chance 
to  see  you  alone,  anywhere;  in  fact,  she  very  particu 
larly  told  me  you  didn't  wish  to  see  me!" 


"WHEN  THE  CAT'S  AWAY"          277 

"Didn't  wish  to  see  you?"  Rose  repeated  again, 
dumbfounded.  Then,  she  surprised  both  herself  and 
her  lover;  for  before  either  of  them  knew  what  she 
was  about,  she  had  slipped  her  hands  out  of  Philip's 
grasp  and  had  put  both  arms  right  up  around  his  neck 
v  ^though  she  had  to  stand  on  tiptoe  to  do  it. 

"Oh,  sweetheart!"  was  all  the  man  could  say  as 
he  held  her  to  him  in  a  grip  that  threatened  to  crush 
her  delicate  little  frame.  And  then,  for  a  few  min 
utes,  they  were  very  silent,  and  very  happy. 

Finally  Rose  found  her  voice. 

"Of  course,  Aunt  Em  meant  it  all  for  the  best 
She  just  about  worshiped  you;  and  when  she  thought 
you  cared  for  some  one  else,  she  imagined  that  it  was 
a  slight  to  me — and  she — she  was  afraid  I  might  break 
my  heart  or  something — and  she  was  only  trying  to 
save  me  from  that !" 

"You  angel!"  Philip  exclaimed  happily.  "She  cer 
tainly  made  a  mess  of  things — and  she  hinted  to  me 
that  you  cared  for  some  one  else — though  she  didn't 
actually  say  so — " 

"Poor  Aunty!  I  suppose  she  wanted  you  to  feel 
badly,  too!  Please  forgive  her — no  one  could  know 
her  and  not  realize  that  she  meant  it  for  the  very,  very 
best." 

"If  she  had  known  how  many  months  it  is  since  I 


278         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

first  longed  to  kiss  that  little  wispy,  curly  lock  of  hair 
over  your  right  ear,  she  would  never  have  had  the 
heart  to  mess  things  so — "  and  Philip  made  up  for  lost 
time,  and  revenged  himself  on  the  absent  Em. 

"Afcd  now,  littlest  of  little  girls,"  he  said  presently, 
"you  have  not  yet  promised  to  marry  me.  Are  you 
brave  enough  to  become  a  poor  parson's  wife  just 
as  soon  as  Tie  is  ordained — if  ever  he  is  ordained?" 

"I'm  so  brave  that  I'd  marry  this  poor  parson,  even 
if  he  were  never  ordained,"  was  Rose's  gay  answer. 
But  in  her  heart  she  was  very  sure  that  he  was  to 
become  the  most  famous  clergyman  in  America,  be 
fore  many  years  could  pass. 

It  was  decided  that  they  would  tell  no  one  of  their 
coming  marriage,  except  Em,  until  after  the  Installa 
tion.  As  they  went  down  the  front  walk,  Rose  said, 
smiling : 

"This  is  the  second  time  to-night  that  we've  started 
for  the  Post  Office !" 

"Yes,"  said  Philip;  then  added,  inanely,  "This  time 
we  go  by  way  of  Heaven !  It  isn't  every  one  who  can 
go  to  the  Post  Office  by  way  of  Heaven!"  And  they 
both  laughed  as  if  he  had  said  a  very  brilliant 
thing. 

They  walked  slowly  down  to  the  Post  Office,  only 
to  find  the  stage  had  not  yet  come;  and  Rose  decided 


"WHEN  THE  CAT'S  AWAY"  2279 

to  join  the  group  on  the  Sessions'  lawn,  while  Philip 
went  back  to  his  sermon.  Their  secret  was  so  very 
new,  they  were  afraid  the  world  might  read  it  in  their 
faces  if  they  lingered  longer  together. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  STAGE  COMES   IN 

WHEN  Doctor  Sessions  reached  home  that  evening 
he  found  the  usual  gathering  of  neighbors  waiting  for 
the  stage  to  come, — and  with  it,  the  mail. 

"Where  you  bin,  now,  Doctor?"  said  Experience 
Lee. 

Lois,  from  her  seat  on  a  garden  bench,  came  out  of 
her  black  revery  and  looked  up  apprehensively.  The 
doctor  made  answer: 

"Danny  Warren  got  too  gay  with  a  tree  and  needed 
a  little  mending ;  nothing  serious ;  but  I  hope  it  fright 
ened  the  youngster  enough  to  make  him  more  careful 
— he's  a  reckless  boy." 

"Father,"  said  Lois  abruptly,  getting  up,  "I  want 
to  speak  to  you  a  moment." 

Obediently,  the  doctor  walked  off  into  the  house 
with  her,  and  was  soon  telling  of  his  interrupted  in 
terview  with  the  minister. 

"How  that  man  does  worship  his  daughter!"  ex 
claimed  Miss  Phoebe  Bliss  to  Mrs.  Sessions.  "I  never 
saw  such  devotion.  It's  just  beautiful." 

280 


THE  STAGE  COMES  IN  281 

"Yes,  they're  very  fond  of  one  another.  Doctor 
and  I  have  centered  all  our  hopes  on  Lois,"  said  Mrs. 
Sessions.  "I  suppose  it's  natural,  when  people  have 
only  one  child,"  she  added  rather  apologetically,  as  if 
ashamed  of  her  own  mother-love. 

"What's  become  of  old  Root?"  asked  Jane  Bliss. 
"I've  missed  him  at  the  Post  Office  for  several 
days." 

"He's  gone  to  visit  his  sister,"  answered  Mrs.  Ses 
sions.  "She  is  quite  sick,  and  he  was  rather  inter 
ested  in  having  her  make  her  will  You  know  the 
Tooigs  have  done  pretty  well,  the  last  few  years." 

"The  old  skin-flint!"  exclaimed  Jane.  "He  wants 
everybody's  money!  I  hope  she  won't  leave  him  a 
cent!" 

Just  then  Rose  Warren  appeared  from  the  direction 
of  the  Post  Office. 

"Come  and  join  us,  Rose,"  Mrs.  Sessions  called. 
"The  stage  isn't  due  for  several  minutes  yet,  and 
Matthias  Hewlett  gets  slower  and  slower,  in  sorting 
out  the  mail !"  s 

"I  mustn't  stay  one  minute  after  the  stage  is  in/' 
said  Rose,  as  she  kissed  Mrs.  Sessions,  "for  I've  the 
f orlornest  little  boy  at  home  you  ever  saw !  Did  Doc 
tor  tell  you  about  it?" 

For  a  few  minutes  they  were  taken  up  with  a  recital 


282         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

of  Danny's  mischance.  Then  the  conversation  turned 
to  Em  and  Charles  Reuben. 

"How  did  they  steal  a  march  on  us,  Miss  Rose?" 
asked  Deacon  Cone.  "We  were  all  planning  to  pelt 
them  with  rice,  as  they  left  town!" 

Rose  laughed. 

"It's  impossible  to  get  ahead  of  Aunty,"  she  said. 
"She  had  had  it  all  planned,  for  days." 

"I  was  in  part  of  it,"  interrupted  Experience  Lee, 
simpering,  "for  they  strolled  up  to  my  house  about 
dusk,  just  as  if  they  was  out  for  a  walk,  and  we 
set  on  the  porch  quite  a  spell,  till  it  got  good  and 
dark — now  you  go  on,  Rose,"  she  added,  generously. 

"Then,"  said  Rose,  "a  livery  stable  carriage  from 
North  Wilbr'm  drove  up  to  Experience's  house.  Aunty 
and  Charles  Reuben  jumped  in,  and  off  they  went  to 
North  Wilbr'm,  where  they  took  the  train  for — some 
where,  no  one  knows  where — for  they  wouldn't  even 
tell  me  where  they  were  going." 

"And  they  never  even  went  through  the  village," 
said  Jane  Bliss.  "To  think  how  we  were  all  watch 
ing  the  outgoings  of  the  East  Longmeadow  stage, 
day  after  day!  I  was  sure  that,  of  course,  Em  would 
go  that  way!" 

"She's  a  cute  one,"  said  Deacon  Cone.  "There's  a 
big  shower  comin'  up  over  the  mountain,"  he  added. 


THE  STAGE  COMES  IN  283 

"You  folks  that  haven't  umbrellas  are  going  to  get 
wet!" 

"Oh,  dear!"  said  Experience  Lee,  timidly,  "I  don't 
like  thunderstorms.  When  Mother  was  alive,  she 
and  I  always  used  to  go  into  a  dark  closet,  if  a 
shower  come  up,  an'  shut  the  door  an'  hold  hands 
till  'twas  all  over !  We  used  to  companion  each  other 
a  great  deal.  Land,  Delia !  What  a  flash !  I'm  goin' 
into  your  house!" 

"Let's  all  go  in,"  said  Mrs.  Sessions,  rising 
quickly. 

"I  don't  suppose  it  is  very  safe,  is  it,  Deacon,  out 
here  under  these  big  maple  trees?"  queried  Phrebe, 
raising  her  delicate  eyebrows  inquiringly  at  Mr.  Cone, 
as  she  lifted  her  embroidered  skirts  in  either  hand 
and  started  across  the  grass  with  the  others. 

"The  trees  are  certainly  a  great  protection  to  the 
house,"  said  the  Deacon,  "but —  Run !  Here  comes  the 
rain!" 

There  was  a  general  scamper;  and  Mrs.  Sessions 
conducted  the  little  knot  of  people  to  the  dining-room, 
where  they  found  the  doctor  and  Lois. 

The  girl  got  up  to  leave,  as  they  came  in,  but  her 
mother  put  out  a  detaining  hand. 

"Stay  with  us,  darling,"  she  said.  Then  she  added 
in  a  whisper — "Stay  and  talk  to  them  while  I  rush 


284         THE  'EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

around  and  shut  the  windows  upstairs  and  down ;  the 
rain  must  be  just  pouring  in  on  the  north  side." 

Before  Lois  could  refuse,  her  mother  was  gone,  and 
she  was  left  to  do  the  honors  as  best  she  might. 

The  storm  was  increasing  steadily  and  at  each  flash 
of  lightning  Experience  Lee  jumped,  and  screamed 
faintly.  She  sat  as  near  the  middle  of  the  room  as 
was  possible  without  moving  the  dining  table;  and 
kept  her  feet  curled  up  on  the  rungs  of  her  chair, 
so  as  not  to  touch  the  floor.  Her  feathers  and  frills 
were  all  bedraggled  from  the  downpour  during  her 
hasty  run  to  shelter,  and  she  looked  more  like  a  poor 
little  wet  hen  roosting  on  a  fence,  than  anything  else, 
as  she  surveyed  her  neighbors  with  miserable  eyes. 

The  doctor  busied  himself  in  trying  to  allay  her 
fears;  but  she  persisted  in  telling  the  most  dreadful 
tales  about  people  she  knew  who  had  been  struck  by 
lightning. 

Suddenly,  between  the  crashes  of  thunder,  a  familiar 
rumble  was  heard. 

"There  goes  the  stage,"  said  the  doctor,  "but  you 
must  all  stay  here  till  the  rain  lets  up!" 

"We'd  better  stay  a  few  minutes,  anyway — "  gasped 
Experience,  between  chattering  teeth — "I  have — "  (as 
a  terrific  crash  came)  "Wasn't  that  awful !" 

Mrs.  Sessions  had  come  back  and  was  busily  en- 


THE  STAGE  COMES  IN  285 

gaged  in  lighting  the  lamp,  for  the  blackness  of  the 
storm  had  made  it  impossible  to  see  across  the 
room. 

Deacon  Cone,  being  nearest  the  door,  got  up  and 
looked  around.  By  a  lightning  flash,  he  made  out 
three  figures  bobbing  toward  him  from  the  direction 
of  the  Post  Office. 

"Here  come  three  drowned  rats !"  he  cried  from  the 
doorway. 

"Oh,  do  shut  that  door,  Mr.  Cone !"  begged  Experi 
ence  Lee.  "It  makes  a  draught  right  through  here — 
There! — the  lamp  nearly  went  out  then,  an'  it's  so 
dangerous  to  have  draughts  in  a  thunderstorm!" 

She  might  have  saved  her  breath  for  all  the  atten 
tion  the  Deacon  paid  to  her. 

"As  sure  as  you  live,"  he  cried,  "it's  Em  and  Charles 
Reuben,  with  old  Root  paddling  along  behind.  Well, 
I  never!" 

Every  one  jumped  up,  eagerly,  at  the  news,  and 
rushed  to  the  door — even  Experience  half  forget 
ting  her  fear  of  the  storm  in  her  haste  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  her  bridegroom-brother  and  his  wife. 

"Wai,  this  is  a  rain!"  Em's  shrilly  familiar  tones 
announced.  "We  swum  all  the  way  from  the  Post 
Office!  Hello,  folks!" 

"Didn't  expect  to  see  the  bride  and  groom  for  an- 


286         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

other  week,  at  least!"  called  the  Deacon  into  the 
storm.  "You  didn't  make  much  of  a  trip — " 

"Let  me  have  that  wet  umbrella,"  cried  Mrs.  Ses 
sions,  reaching  out  for  it  as  Em  neared  the  door. 

"Look  out  for  my  bunnit,"  cautioned  Em  amicably, 
as  she  handed  over  the  umbrella.  "Wai,  we  didn't  go 
so  far,  but  we  went  fast.  We  seen  Bunker  Hill  Monu 
ment,  an'  Boston  Common,  an'  Plymouth  Rock  an' 
all  the  things  we'd  wanted  to  see,  all  our  lives.  An' 
then  we  didn't  know  what  to  see  next,  and  somehow 
we  got  kind  o'  homesick,  and  so,  I  says,  'Husband, 
let's  go  home' — and  here  we  are  an — " 

"Say,  are  you  folks  goin'  to  stand  jawin'  in  this 
doorway  all  night?  I  want  ter  git  in!"  snarled  a 
roice  over  Em's  shoulder. 

"Good  land !"  she  ejaculated  with  a  start.  "Thought 
you'd  gone  home,  Cyrus  Root !  Don't  let  that  man  in 
here!"  she  cried,  appealing  to  the  friendly  knot  of 
neighbors  pressing  around  her  in  welcome.  "Shut  him 
out,  somebody!  No,  Rose  darling"  (her  voice  soft 
ening  unconsciously)  "I  can't  answer  any  more  ques 
tions  yet — I  know  I'm  a-drippin'  from  head  to  foot, 
but  'twon't  do  any  harm.  Keep  that  man  out!"  she 
reiterated.  Then  suddenly  she  darted  back  and 
slammed  the  door  in  old  Root's  face. 


THE  STAGE  COMES  IN  287 

"Charles  Reuben !"  she  shouted,  "see  to  it  that  that 
critter  don't  get  in  here!  You  hold  the  door,  Hus 
band,  till  I  tell  you  to  let  go!" 

But  the  wind  ripped  the  doorknob  out  of  Charles 
Reuben's  wet  hands,  and  old  Root,  grinning  tooth 
lessly,  ducked  and  twisted  himself  under  the  Bard's 
arm  and  into  the  house,  like  a  gnarled,  evil  spirit  of 
the  storm. 

"Thought  ye  could  keep  me  aout,  did  ye?"  he 
chuckled.  "The  whole  pack  o'  ye  couldn't  keep  me 
aout — not  'thout  I  wanted  to  stay  aout!" 

"Ye  there,  Doc?"  he  went  on,  paying  no  attention 
to  any  one  else.  "The  rain's  most  blinded  me — 
steamed  up  my  specs.  I  want  ye  to  give  me  some 
o'  them  drops  that  stops  the  neuralagy — I'm  nigh 
crazy  with  the  pain  in  my  face,  after  ridin'  in  that 
old  stage  an  hour  and  a  half  in  the  rain.  It  was 
a-hailin'}  an'  a.-rainin'  an'  a-thunderin'  an'  slight enin' , 
an'  if  thar'  was  another  thing  it  could  of  bin  doin',  it 
would  a-done  it,  you  bet!" 

"You  come  right  in  here  and  get  dry,  Root,"  said 
the  doctor  hospitably.  "Don't  bother  to  go  into  the 
office.  Get  up  by  the  stove.  I'll  bring  you  something 
that'll  quiet  your  pain  right  away.  Then,  to-morrow, 
you  have  that  tooth  out;  as  I  told  you  to  a  month 


288         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

ago;"  the  doctor's  voice  trailed  off  as  he  closed  the 
door  of  the  office,  "for  if  you  don't,  I'll  pull  it,  my 
self." 

"All  right.  Fix  me  up,  good,  Doc,  for  the  house'll 
be  powerful  cold  at  home.  I  don't  let  Hannah  have 
a  fire  after  noonday  dinner's  cooked.  She'd  coddle 
herself  all  day  'f  I'd  let  h— " 

"Oh,  come!"  put  in  Lois.  "We  all  know  Hannah! 
You  never  yet  gave  her  a  chance  to  get  decently  warm, 
to  say  nothing  of — " 

"What's  that  to  you,  Miss  Imper'ance?"  snarled  old 
Root.  " 'Tain't  none  o'  your  business!" 

"Don't  aggravate  him!"  burst  in  Em,  anxiously,  to 
every  one's  surprise. 

Lois  paid  no  heed.  Between  peals  of  thunder  her 
voice  rang  out,  clear  and  young. 

"It'll  be  everybody's  business,  before  long,"  she 
went  on,  "for  if  you  don't  give  her  more  to  eat,  and 
work  her  less  hard,  she'll  fall  apart  from  sheer  ex 
haustion." 

Old  Root  fixed  his  ferret  eyes  on  Lois.  Then  he 
shook  a  crooked  finger  in  her  face.  Slowly,  he  said, 
"So  my  affairs'll  be  everybody's  business,  will  they? 
Not  before  yours  will,  you — " 

"Don't  ye  say  it,  Cyrus  Root !"  cried  Em,  suddenly 
starting  forward  and  putting  a  protecting  arm  about 


THE  STAGE  COMES  IN  289 

Lois— an  arm  the  astonished  and  indignant  girl  vainly 
strove  to  shake  off. 

"Better  go,  Cyrus,"  said  Charles  Reuben  sooth-- 
ingly.  "Here's  your  medicine — I  went  in  an'  got  it — 
the  doctor  handed  it  to  me.  Better  go,  before  he 
conies  out  o'  the  office  an'  hears  you." 

"Go!"  shouted  old  Root,  still  writhing  under  Lois' 
criticism  of  his  happy  home  life.  "I  won't  go — till 
I've  got  through  with  this  gal  here !  She — " 

"She's  Doctor's  daughter — an'  Delia's  daughter,'* 
interrupted  Em,  frantically  clinging  to  Lois'  protest 
ing  arm,  "an'  a  child  of  this  village.  An'  I  appeal 
to  everybody  to  shut  this  man's  mouth  or  put  him 
out. — Don't  let  him  say  what  he's  a-tryin'  to  say,  for 
God's  sake!" 

"What's  all  this  rumpus?"  called  the  doctor,  com 
ing  down  the  hall  with  long  strides;  "sounds  like  a 
cat  fight!" 

"Doctor!  Put  him  out!"  Em  shrilled,  "put  that 
worthless  old  critter  out,  before  he  disgraces  himself 
and  everybody  else!  He — " 

Just  then  there  was  a  blinding  flash  of  lightning, 
as  old  Root,  pointing  his  dripping  umbrella  at  Lois, 
glared  at  her  till  she  shrank  back  in  horror. 

"Do  you  see  her,  everybody?  Wai,  look  at  her!: 
Do  you  know  what  she  is?  No!  But  I'll  tell  yout 


290         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

Now,  Lois  Sessions,  I'm  a-goin'  to  tell  'em  all,  what 
I  know — an'  what  you  know — an'  what  you  thought 
no  one  in  this  village  was  a-goin'  to  find  out — didn't 
you,  Miss?  But  you  didn't  count  on  Cyrus  Root — 
whose  'business  was  goin'  to  be  everybody's  busi 
ness.'  " 

"What  on  earth  are  you  talking  about,  Root?" 
fumed  the  puzzled  doctor,  in  some  heat. 

"Yes — "  persisted  Root  in  a  higher  key,  shaking  his 
umbrella  menacingly,  and  shouting  down  a  shrill  in 
terruption  from  Em.  "Yes — I'm  goin'  on.  Arter 
what  she  said  about  me  an'  Hanner,  I'm  a.-goin'  on! 

"Do  you  see  that  girl  there,  folks,  a-decked  out  in 
all  them  fine  clo'es  an'  white  shoes  an'  fancy  stuff? 
Do  you  know  whare  she  got  'em?  She  stole  'em. 
She's  a  thief !  A  common  thief — no  better'n  that  nig 
ger  that  got  took  up  down  in  the  Holler,  the  other 
day,  for  stealin'  a  silver  fork  from  Phoebe,  here! 
She's  a  common  thief,  I  tell  ye!  Now,  look  at  her!" 

Amid  the  roar  and  blinding  flashes  of  the  storm,  old 
Root  in  his  dripping  clothes  seemed  like  a  grotesquely 
avenging  gnome,  pointing  the  finger  of  fate  at  his 
shrinking  victim.  His  voice  ceased  for  a  moment,  and 
there  was  dead  silence.  Every  one  seemed  paralyzed. 
The  doctor  had  taken  an  angry  step  forward,  but 
now  stood  swaying.  A  sudden  gust  from  the  opeo 


THE  STAGE  COMES  IN  291 

door  blew  the  lamp  out;  at  which  Experience  Lee 
screamed. 

Once  more,  Root's  face  and  that  of  the  stricken  girl 
were  thrown  into  bold  relief.  Another  face  also— 
the  doctor's.  Every  vestige  of  color  seemed  to  have 
vanished,  leaving  it  almost  as  white  as  his  hair  and 
whiskers.  His  voice  broke  the  stillness. 

"Some  one  light  the  lamp,  please,"  he  said.  Then, 
"Speak  up,  Lois !  Tell  them  it's  a  lie !"  he  added ;  and 
into  the  tone  of  his  voice  there  crept  a  simple,  child 
like  wistfulness.  "Tell  them  it's  a  lie!  Then  I  can 
settle  with  this  foul-mouthed  liar!  I'd  have  treated 
him  as  he  deserved  to  be  treated  before  he'd  spoken 
three  words.  But  this  is  too  big  and  too  damnable 
to  be  punished  before  it's  answered!" 

The  lamp  by  this  time  was  relighted. 

"Speak,  daughter  dear!"  urged  the  doctor,  with 
trembling  lips,  his  face  turning  ashen. 

Lois  started  forward  and  seemed  about  to  offer 
some  denial;  but  Cyrus  fixed  a  relentless  eye  on  her, 
and  the  girl,  with  one  fascinated  look  of  terror,  sank 
to  the  floor,  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"There!  You  see!"  cried  the  man,  still  pointing. 
"Does  that  look  like  innocence?  No!  Is  that  the 
high  and  mighty  girl  who  holds  her  head  above  every 
body?  No!  It's  a  girl  that's  bin  expelled  from  Col- 


292         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

lege  for  raisin'  a  check — yes,  an'  stealin'  money,  before 
that,  to  buy  nice  clo'es  with!  I  went  straight  up  to 
her  college  town,  I  did,  to  see  my  sick  sister — an'  I 
found  out  all  there  was  to  find  out — from  my  nephew 
what's  gardener  round  the  college  grounds.  Every 
body  knows  it  there. 

"I  had  a  tongue  in  my  head,"  he  went  on,  "an* 
I  wa'n't  afraid  to  ask  questions!  What  she  done, 
she  done  knowin'  how  wrong  it  was,  an'  that  she  was 
sure  to  bring  down  her  father's  and  mother's  gray 
hairs  in  sorrer  to  the  grave !  They'd  hushed  it  up  and 
expelled  her,  instead  of  prosecutin',  'cuz  she'd  bin  such 
a  favorite  an'  so  on!" 

Lois  got  to  her  feet,  all  at  once. 

"It's  true,  what  he  says,  so  far  as  it  goes !"  she  cried 
in  a  clear  voice.  "But  he  doesn't  tell  how  I  had  to  do 
it.  How  could  any  one  graduate  on  the  miserable  bit 
of  money  my  father  sent  me  ?  I — " 

There  was  a  moan  from  Mrs.  Sessions. 

The  doctor  said  steadily : 

"The  storm — at  least  the  rain — is  over.  May  I 
trouble  you  all  to  go  home — all  except  Em?  Delia 
may  need  her.  Good-night,  every  one.  Get  out, 
Root!" 

He  held  the  door  wide  open  and  the  neighbors  tum 
bled  quickly  out,  all  to  overwhelmed  to  speak.  All, 


THE  STAGE  COMES  IN  293 

that  is,  except  Root,  who  whispered  loudly  behind  his 
hand  to  Em,  as  he  passed  her :  "Ye  thought  ye  could 
stop  me,  but  I  was  too  cute  for  ye!  He,  he,  he!" 
With  the  last  word,  he  faded  into  the  mist  of  the 
village  street. 

"Cyrus  Root!"  called  Em  after  the  vanishing  fig 
ure.  "You're  a  skunk — just  a  plain,  low-down  skunk! 
I  ain't  never  bin  too  fond  o'  Lois,  myself;  but  I'd  a 
cut  my  tongue  out  sooner  than  expose  her  so  before 
her  family  an'  friends !  Don't  you  ever  dare  to  darken. 
my  door  again,  so  long  as  you  live !" 

"He,  he !"  creaked  a  faint  echo,  as  Em  turned  back 
into  the  Sessions'  dining-room,  and  as  old  Root  went 
gleefully  to  spread  his  wonderful  tidings  among  the 
Post  Office  loungers. 

As  soon  as  the  room  was  cleared  of  all  but  the 
Sessions  family  and  Em,  the  doctor  closed  the  door 
carefully,  and  walking  over  to  his  weeping  wife,  laid 
a  protecting  hand  on  her  arm.  Then  he  turned  a 
drawn,  flabby  face  toward  his  only  child. 

"Now,  Lois,"  he  said,  "your  mother  and  I  are 
ready." 

There  was  silence,  a  moment — dead  silence,  except 
for  the  dripping  of  the  water  from  the  eaves  out 
side.  Then  Lois,  looking  at  Em  rather  than  at  her 
father  and  mother,  began: 


294         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

"I  don't  know  what  to  say,  exactly.  I  meant  to 
make  it  all  right  again.  You  people  can't  understand 
how  things  really  are — " 

"We  know  how  things  really  are.  Never  mind 
about  that — tell  us  what  you  did!"  interrupted  the 
doctor. 

"Oh,  Lois !"  cried  Mrs.  Sessions,  clasping  her  hands 
tightly  and  leaning  forward  to  peer  through  tear- 
dimmed  eyes  at  her  daughter.  "You  didn't — didn't 
— steal — you  couldn't!  My  baby  couldn't — "  Her 
voice  trailed  away  in  a  horrified  whisper  as  she  read 
the  expression  in  Lois'  face. 

"I  could,  and  I  did — since  you  will  have  the  facts. 
I  didn't  mean  any  harm,  truly.  I  was  class  treasurer, 
and  I  altered  a  check.  There  was  no  other  way  for 
me  to  get  money ;  and  I  had  to  have  it.  I  was  at  the 
head  in  everything  and  I  had  to  dress  for  the  part" 
(with  a  sneer). 

"What  check?"  asked  the  doctor;  adding,  hope 
fully,  "One  of  mine?" 

"No,"  said  Lois,  jerking  out  her  answer  in  staccato 
sentences.  "A  girl's.  One  of  the  girls  in  my  class. 
Edith  Todd.  Her  father  is  the  pork-packer,  Todd,  you 
know.  Out  in  Cincinnati.  She  has  heaps  of  money, — 
her  father  keeps  her  bank  account  full  for  her  all  the 
time.  She  scribbles  checks  by  the  dozen,  for  every- 


THE  STAGE  COMES  IN  295 

thing;  just  jots  down  the  figures  and  doesn't  even 
write  them  out,  and  never  bothers  about  putting  down 
the  amounts  on  the  stubs.  She  never  knows  if  she 
has  a  dollar  or  a  thousand  dollars  in  the  bank.  It's 
a  joke,  at  college.  Our  class  was  assessed  nine  dol 
lars  each,  for  the  chapel  bell  we're  giving.  Edith 
Todd  gave  me  her  check.  I  changed  the  nine  to 
ninety.  That  was  all." 

"All!"  echoed  the  doctor  heavily. 

"It  wasn't  really  stealing,"  flashed  Lois.  "I  had  to 
have  the  money  for  my  graduation  clothes.  I  knew  I 
could  save  up  enough  out  of  my  allowance  to  pay 
it  back.  I  could  send  Edith  the  money  and  tell  her 
it  was  a  mistake.  And  she's  too  stupid  to  know  the 
difference.  I  wasn't  defrauding  her.  Because  she  has 
more  money  than  she  can  ever  spend  or  keep  track 
of." 
.  "But—" 

"It  would  have  been  all  right,  too,"  she  went  on  in 
sudden  irritation,  "if — " 

"Lois,"  babbled  her  mother,  dazed,  "you  stole — ?" 

"I  was  the  'star'  player  of  the  basket-ball  team  for 
one  thing — my  gym  suit  had  to  be  a  stunning  one — 
I  was  in  about  a  hundred  other  things,  and  all  of 
them  called  for  clothes,  clothes — clothes!  I  couldn't 
do  as  the  third-rate  girls  might: — wear  just  any  old 


296        THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

thing,  when  every  eye  was  on  me.  You  don't  know 
anything  whatever  about  it — you've  always  led  a  quiet, 
humdrum  life  in  this  out-of-the-world  hole,  and  I 
suppose  you  thought  that  the  absurd  little  bit  of  money 
you  sent  was  going  to  be  enough  for  me  to  graduate 
on!  It  might  do  for  my  clothes,  possibly,  if  I  buried 
myself  here  in  South  Wilbr'm — but  it  certainly  never 
could  carry  me  through  the  expenses  of  the  last  year 
at  college!  No  one  could  do  it  who  tries  to  be  any 
thing.  You  shouldn't  have  sent  me  there  if  you 
couldn't  give  me  what  I  needed!" 

The  doctor  put  his  hand  to  his  head  in  a  bewildered 
way. 

"We — we  did  all  we  could — didn't  we,  Delia?"  he 
asked  hesitatingly  of  his  wife. 

She  nodded  helplessly. 

He  seemed  to  speak  with  effort,  and  repeated  slowly, 
straightening  up  and  looking  at  Lois : 

"We  did  all  we  could — we —  You  see"  (indicating 
his  shabby  coat  with  one  hand)  "the  kind  of  clothes 
we  have  been  wearing  for  your  sake.  Sometimes 
we  have  even  been  a  little  hungry — "  he  added 
with  a  humbly  questioning  inflection  on  the  last 
word. 

"I  can't  stand  this!"  burst  out  Em.  "I  didn't  stay 
here  to  hear  you  a-pleadin'  to  your  child  to  please  for- 


THE  STAGE  COMES  IN  297 

give  you  for  not  givin'  her  the  'arth  so's  she  could 
keep  honest,  when  you've  already  given  her  the  skin 
off  your  backs!  It  most  breaks  my  heart  to  hear 
you  a-humblin'  yourself  so.  You — both  of  you — 
who've  always  been  truth  and  honesty  incarnate.  I've 
felt  hard  toward  Lois  in  my  time — I'm  a  wicked  old 
woman — "  (here  the  scalding  tears  rushed  into  Em's 
eyes)  "but  I  meant  it  for  the  best,  I  swear  it  before 
Almighty  God! 

"I'd  known  there  was  something  wrong,  for  a  long 
time — I'd  just  felt  it;  but  I'd  never  thought  of  snoopin' 
round  an'  try  in'  to  find  out  what  'twas,  even  if  Lois 
had  injured  my  own  darling  child  so!  You  all  look 
surprised,  but  it's  true,  just  the  same.  She  did.  And 
that's  why  my  poor  pretty  Rose  was  a-droopin'  and 
gettin'  to  be  a  peaked  shadder — though  the  cheerfulest, 
sweetest  creetur'  ever  made,  through  it  all!  And  I 
could  see  that  she  was  a-goin',  just  as  all  her  family 
had  gone,  an'  I  just  couldn't  bear  it!  I  couldn't  bear 
it!"  wailed  Em  with  hard,  dry  sobs  that  hurt  her  throat 
cruelly.  "An'  sometimes  I  felt  as  if  I  had  to  do  some- 
thin'  !  You  see,  the  minister  didn't  come  to  see  Rosie 
so  much  after  he  saw  Lois"  (here  Lois  gave  a  star 
tled  look  of  closer  attention)  ;  "an'  yet  they  was  most 
as  good  as  engaged  before,  till  Lois  come  along  and 
cut  out  my  child,  with  her  rowin'  an'  her  clo'es !  Rosie 


298         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

never  complained  or  had  any  hard  feelin's — she's  too 
much  of  an  angel;  but  she  just  crumpled  up  like  a 
little  bruised  roseleaf  an'  begun  to  wither  away.  I 
prayed  an'  prayed,  but  the  Lord  was  slow  to  act.  An' 
I  never  thought  o'  His  takin'  this  way." 

"So  that's  it,  is  it,"  interrupted  Lois  sneeringly.  "1 
was  wondering  why  you  were  so  much  interested  in 
me!  You  thought  I  cut  out  your  little  meek-faced 
saint!  Well,  you  can  tell  her  from  me  that  she  can 
have  him!  /  don't  want  him.  I've  had  all  I  want  of 
saints  and  ministers  and  Christian  charity.  A  man  is 
held  up  as  above  common  clay,  simply  because  he 
stands  in  a  pulpit  on  Sundays — and  then  when  a 
woman  is  down  on  her  luck  he  is  the  first  one  to  cast 
a  stone!  Rose  can  have  him!  And  I  wish  her  joy, 
the  first  time  her  pedestal  rocks  a  little!" 

Em  turned  to  the  girl's  father  and  mother. 

"Your  poor  hearts  are  stricken,  just  at  first;  but 
don't  judge  your  only  child  too  harsh,  all  at  once.  She's 
stricken,  too,  an'  she's  had  about  all  she  can  stand. 
Her  punishment  must  of  come  on  her,  just  as  soon  as 
she  done  it,  for  she's  honest  by  nature — couldn't  be 
otherwise  with  such  a  mother  or  such  a  father.  She's 
had  her  lesson — and  I  ain't  afraid  for  her  future — 
nor  must  you  be.  Her  temptations  was  greater  than 
most,  on  account  of  bein'  so  handsome  an'  popular. 


THE  STAGE  COMES  IN  299 

Old  Root  told  me  and  my  husband  the  whole  story 
first,  for  he  was  on  the  same  train  with  us  comin' 
home.  Lois  can  tell  you  'bout  it  better'n  I  can,  but  I 
guess  the  poor  little  creetur'  don't  feel  like  talkin' 
much  more,  so  I'll  go  on,  an'  she  can  interrupt  if  she 
wants  to.  Now,  she  didn't  start  out  to  steal.  She  was 
class  treasurer,  like  she  says.  Just  at  the  wrong  time, 
come  a  measley  check  for  nine  dollars — Lois  got  to 
lookin'  at  it,  I  s'pose,  an'  thinkin'  how  easy  it  would 
be  to  change  the  nine  to  ninety — just  borrow  the  money 
for  a  little  while  an*  then  pay  it  back  as  soon  as  she 
could.  Wasn't  that  it,  child?" 

A  grateful  nod  from  Lois  was  the  only  answer. 
"She  didn't  see  it  as  stealin',  but  it  hurt,  just  the 
same,  I  know — and  I  guess  she  didn't  eat  much  dinner 
that  day — 'cause  by  nature,  she  was  honest.  Then, 
after  she  had  done  it,  and  before  she  could  get  a  chance 
to  make  up  the  amount,  along  come  the  Hand  of  the 
Lord.  It  seems  her  ink  didn't  dry  just  the  same  color 
as  the  ink  on  the  check,  an'  the  man  at  the  bank  no 
ticed  it.  He  showed  it  to  the  Dean  at  college — Mr. 
Eden's  sister — an'  so  it  went.  Wai,  every  one  was 
fond  of  her"  (Mrs.  Sessions  was  sobbing  "My  baby 
— my  baby!"  softly  to  herself  as  Em's  cracked  voice 
continued)  "an'  so  they  decided  to  hush  it  all  up  an* 
not  prosecute  but  just  let  her  go  quietly  home  with- 


300         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

out  any  one  knowin',  but  the  Faculty.  But  somehow 
it  got  around,  like  such  things  do,  till  everybody 
knowed  it. 

"How  Cyrus  Root  could  have  brought  himself  to 
blab  to  you,  I  don't  see.  But  he  done  it.  Cyrus  was 
just  burstin'  with  it  an'  I  couldn't  stop  him  from  tellin', 
hard  as  I  tried. 

"I've  reasoned  out  how  it  all  happened.  First  off, 
I  blamed  Lois  mighty  bad,  o'  course;  then  I  got  to 
thinkin'  how  she  must  of  suffered,  an'  I  felt  only 
pity  for  the  poor  child,  an'  sorrow — an'  that's  how 
you,  Delia,  and  Doctor,  must  feel — it's  going  to  be 
the  makin'  of  that  girl  of  yours — an',  I  want  you  to 
be  glad  the  blow's  come.  It  had  to  come,  in  one  form 
or  another — it  won't  come  again. — An'  before  you 
know  it  you'll  all  be  happy  again.  If  you  ain't  got  the 
money  handy  to  pay  the  extra  sum,  7  have,  an'  I  can 
send  the  college  a  check  to-morrow — (I  planned  to  tell 
Lois  that,  an'  have  it  a  secret  between  her  and  me — ) 
an'  you  know  you  can  owe  me  till  Kingdom  Come — I 
shan't  ever  collect  on  the  best  friends  I  have  in  the 
world.  All  I  want  is  to  have  Lois  feel  I'm  her  friend 
from  now  on — " 

"Oh,  don't!"  cried  Lois,  throwing  herself  on  Em's 
breast.  "I've  always  been  so  rotten  to  you !" 


THE  STAGE  COMES  IN  '301 

But  the  doctor  looked  at  his  daughter  with  a  new 
expression. 

"How — how  did  Philip  Eden  know?"  he  said,  la 
boring  painfully  with  the  words. 

"I— I  told  him,"  flamed  back  Lois.  "Yes,  I  told 
him,  weeks  ago — and  he  paid  back  the  money — so  as 
to  keep  me  out  of  prison!  Yes,  he  did,"  Lois  cried 
recklessly,  giving  up  all  attempt  to  screen  herself,  as 
her  father  looked  blank.  "I  hate  him,  now;  but  you 
might  as  well  know  the  whole  thing — I  hate  him; 
but  you've  got  to  be  grateful  to  him  all  your  days, 
for  he  kept  your  daughter  from  going  to  prison — out 
of  Christian  charity!  I  thought  it  was  something 
else, — but  it  was  only  Christian  charity!  You  see,  it 
wasn't  only  the  ninety  dollars.  A  maid  saw  me  take  it 
out  of  Edith's  drawer — " 

"Take  what?    The  check?"  asked  Dr.  Sessions. 

"No,  it  was  before  that — I  was  terribly  hard  up. 
And  that  little  fool  of  a  Todd  girl  aways  used  to 
leave  handfuls  of  bills  loose  in  her  bureau.  She'd 
never  have  missed  them.  But  the  maid  saw  me,  and 
I  had  to  keep  giving  her  money,  every  little  while, 
to  keep  her  mouth  shut;  and  then  I  found  that,  in 
spite  of  all,  she'd  told  another  maid,  and  there  was 
no  end  to  it.  It  had  to  come  out  sooner  or  later. 


302         THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

"So  I  told  Philip  Eden  when  I  came  home,  Easter, 
and  asked  him  to  help  me — and  he  did.  He  wouldn't 
have,  only  I  lied  to  him — I  told  him  I  did  it  for  your 
sake.  I  told  him  this  house  was  mortgaged  up  to  the 
eyes  and  that  I'd  stolen  to  pay  the  notes  that  were 
coming  due — so  as  to  keep  a  roof  over  your  heads — 
and,  like  a  goose,  he  believed  me;  and  gave  me  all  the 
money  I  needed.  But  then  they  found  out  about  the 
check,  anyway  (that  came  afterward)  and  they  ex 
pelled  me.  And  then  he  insisted  on  going  to  see  his 
sister — the  Dean — and  she  told  him  the  whole  thing 
— about  the  check  and  the  other  money  and  all;  and 
that's  why  he  loathes  me.  He  thought  he  had  con 
verted  me  from  stealing,  and  was  going  to  make  a 
saint  of  me;  but  he  doesn't  even  try  to  cure  me  of 
lying. — Isn't  that  funny?"  Even  at  this  crisis,  her 
whole  thought  seemed  to  be  of  Philip,  rather  than 
anything  else. 

Again  her  father  tried  to  speak;  but  all  they  could 
make  out  was  a  thick  mumble  of  "Poo-r  boy — poo'  boy 
— Delia — I  blamed — him — poo* — "  Then  of  a  sudden 
he  fell  heavily  over  the  table. 

All  three  women  rushed  toward  him.  And,  as  they 
tried  to  lift  him  up,  they  saw  that  his  mouth  and  the 


THE  STAGE  COMES  IN  303 

whole  left  side  of  his  face  were  queerly  twisted,  his 
eyes  vacant  and  staring. 

"Oh,  God!     It's  a  stroke!"  cried  Em.     But  Mrs. 
Sessions  had  fainted. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

STRICKEN  ! 

THE  news  that  Dr.  Sessions  had  had  a  stroke  of 
paralysis  was  all  over  the  village  in  no  time.  It  trav 
eled  almost  as  fast  as  the  story  of  Lois'  thefts. 

A  physician  hurried  out  from  Springfield  in  response 
to  Charles  Reuben's  imperative  call. 

He  and  Rose  had  not  gone  home  when  Dr.  Ses 
sions  had  dismissed  his  neighbors;  but  had  walked 
up  and  down,  outside,  waiting  for  Em  and  discussing 
old  Root's  appalling  disclosures. 

Then,  all  at  once,  Em  had  appeared  in  the  doorway 
and  called  for  help.  Instantly  her  husband  and  Rose 
were  at  her  side. 

"Charles  Reuben,  you  git  a  hoss  and  drive  to  Spring 
field  faster'n  you  ever  drove  before — Doctor's  got  a 
stroke  an'  you  must  bring  another  doctor  back  with 
you.  Git  Dr.  Brown.  He's  bin  out  here  before,  an' 
our  Doctor  knows  'im.  Rosie,  you  run  and  git  three, 
mebby  four,  men,  to  carry  the  Doctor  upstairs  to  his 
bed.  I  don't  know  how  anybody's  goin'  to  lift  'im — 
he's  so  dretf ul  heavy !" 

304 


STRICKEN!  305 

Charles  Reuben  made  a  dash  for  the  adjacent  barn, 
and  luckily  found  the  doctor's  horse  with  his  harness 
still  on;  although  he  had  been  taken  out  of  the  old 
buggy,  and  was  peacefully  devouring  oats  in  a  feed 
bag.  Charles  Reuben  hastily  backed  him  into  the 
shafts  and  set  off  at  a  mad  gallop. 

At  the  same  time,  Rose  had  made  a  run  for  the 
Post  Office,  that  being  the  only  place  where  she  was 
sure  of  finding  several  men  at  once. 

By  the  time  Charles  Reuben  was  well  on  his  way 
to  Springfield,  the  poor  distorted  wreck  of  what  was 
once  the  doctor's  magnificent  body  had  been  tenderly 
borne  upstairs  and  laid  on  his  bed. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
"UNTO  THE  HILLS" 

THE  doctor  never  again  recovered  the  use  of  his 
limbs ;  but  gradually  his  vocal  chords  regained  a  meas 
ure  of  their  power,  and  his  brain  its  old  activity. 

All  day  long,  he  used  to  sit  in  his  big  chair, 
propped  up  by  pillows,  his  helplessness  doubly  piti 
ful  by  contrast  with  his  former  splendid  strength. 

As  soon  as  he  was  able  to  make  himself  under 
stood,  he  had  called  for  Philip  Eden  so  insistently 
that  Mrs.  Sessions  had  had  no  other  course  than  to 
send  for  the  minister. 

"Boy — forgive — vio-violence,"  his  twisted  mouth 
had  articulated  carefully.  And  the  "boy,"  in  answer  to 
the  pleading  blue  eyes,  had  taken  the  cold,  inert  hand 
in  his  warm,  strong  fingers  and  smoothed  it  as  if  it 
were  that  of  his  own  father. 

"Right — you  did  right — "  went  on  the  twisted  lips 
—"sorry—" 

Then  the  tears  rushed  to  the  helpless  eyes,  and  Philip 
Eden,  distressed  beyond  measure,  looked  away  as  he 
patted  the  hand  he  held  and  said: 

306 


"UNTO  THE  HILLS"  307 

"It's  all  right,  Doctor,  if  you've  forgiven  me.  I 
tried  to  save  you  from  knowing — what  I  suppose  you 
were  bound  to  find  out  sometime,  that's  all.  Shall 
we  try  not  to  speak  of  it  or  think  of  it  any  more?" 

And  after  that,  the  young  man  and  the  old  were 
better  friends  than  ever  before;  and  the  patient  looked 
forward  eagerly  to  the  Minister's  daily  visits. 

As  soon  as  the  doctor  was  strong  enough  to  sit  up, 
Lois  was  sent  to  Montana  to  stay  with  a  sister  of 
Mrs.  Sessions,  for  an  indefinite  time — or  at  least  until 
South  Wilbr'm  should  have  stopped  talking  about 
her. 

Her  father  and  mother  missed  her  terribly,  but  they 
made  no  complaint. 

As  the  doctor  sat  in  his  chair,  looking  out  on  the 
beautiful  New  England  mountains  that  he  loved,  he 
often  murmured  to  himself : 

"  'I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes  unto  the  hills  from  whence 
cometh  my  help !' ' 

Then  Delia,  his  wife,  would  come  softly  and  lay 
her  cheek  against  his,  and  look  too,  at  the  hills  and  the 
sunset  behind  them.  And  they  both  knew  that  some 
where  beyond  those  hills  was  Lois. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

EM  PREACHES  A  SERMON 

ON  the  night  Em  and  Charles  Reuben  came  home 
from  their  honeymoon,  Rose  had  a  long  talk  with 
Em,  and  told  her  that  Philip  and  she  had  made  up 
their  misunderstanding;  that  they  were  to  be  married 
— that  he  had  never  cared  for  Lois.  Indeed,  the  lat 
ter  explanation  was  unnecessary,  as  the  older  woman 
already  knew  that  part  of  it. 

Em  blamed  herself  hotly  "for  an  old  fool"  in  hav 
ing  kept  the  lovers  apart ;  and  said  many  bitter  things 
to  herself  about  "meddlin'  in  other  folks'  matters." 

More  than  that,  she  apologized  so  abjectly  and  gen 
erously  to  Philip,  when  he  appeared  the  next  morning, 
that  he  forgave  her  everything  and  kissed  her  weather- 
beaten  cheek,  saying  merrily : 

"I've  needed  an  Aunt  Em  to  put  me  in  my  place 
for  a  long,  long  time !" 

Then  Rose  had  joined  them,  and  all  three  had  gone 
into  Em's  "best  room." 

"Wai,  you  two  didn't  wait  for  my  blessin',  did  you?" 
308 


EM  PREACHES  A  SERMON  309 

Em  shrilled,  happily.    "You  only  waited  till  my  back 
was  turned,  you  naughty  children!" 

And,  holding  a  hand  of  each,  she  led  Rose  and 
Philip  to  the  narrow  horsehair  sofa — the  sofa  where 
Em  always  sat  in  a  thunderstorm  or  on  solemn  and 
impressive  occasions. 

Sitting  down  between  them,  she  still  held  their 
hands,  patting  them  occasionally. 

"Philip,"  she  began,  "I  s'pose  if  I'm  your  'Aunt 
Em/  like  you  said,  I  might's  well  call  you  'Philip' — 
I  want  you  should  know  what  a  dear  daughter  Rosie 
here  has  been  to  me.  I  don't  want  to  let  her  go — I 
don't  want  ever  to  let  her  go"  (here  Em  swallowed), 
"but  I  know  I  couldn't  keep  her  longer,  if  I  would, 
'cause  you've  got  her  heart — and  there  ain't  much 
left  of  Rosie  when  you've  snatched  out  her  heart. 
So  take  'er,  Philip"  (here  she  joined  their  two  hands, 
in  her  lap),  "an' — an' — if  you  should  ever  make  her 
unhappy,  I  b'lieve  'twould  kill  me  outright, — I  do,  hon 
est.  But  I  know  you  won't,  an'  I — I'd  ruther  have 
her  merry  you  than  any  one.  Only,  just  remember, 
she's  so  little — an'  not  very  strong!  So  she  needs  an 
extra  amount  of  lovin'  and  lookin'  after.  She  always 
tries  to  do  all  the  lovin'  an'  lookin'  after  people — so 
it'll  be  hard  work  for  even  you  to  keep  up  with  her; 
but  you  must 


3io        THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

"In  the  sight  of  God,  you're  just  two  children  startin' 
out  on  the  real  journey  of  Life  together,  and  I  want 
you  should  go  hand  in  hand — always  hand  in  hand," 
Em  repeated  with  emphasis,  "an'  keep  your  faces  set 
in  the  right  direction — forrard.  Even  if  you  go  hand 
in  hand  an'  one  looks  backward,  there's  harm  done. 
Lot's  wife  would  of  bin  well  enough  off,  this  minute, 
if  she'd  done  as  her  husband  did — just  remember 
that.  As  you  go  on,  day  by  day,  don't  look  back. 
If  you  do,  you'll  see  somethin'  or  other  that  ought  to 
of  bin  done  different,  as  sure's  you're  born!  There's 
no  use  in  that !  You're  both  bound  to  make  mistakes ; 
but  if  you're  patient  with  each  other — if  you  don't  say 
'I  told  you  so'  (and  it's  powerful  hard  not  to  say  'I 
told  you  so,'  sometimes — I  ain't  said  it  to  Charles 
Reuben  yit,  but  I'm  bound  to  do  it  one  of  these  days 
when  I'm  off  my  guard)  ;  as  I  was  sayin',  as  long's 
you  don't  say  'I  told  you  so'  things'll  come  all  right 
after  a  while."  Em  paused  for  breath,  then  went 
on: 

"We  all  have  a  lot  of  'self  about  us — even  the  best 
of  us!  You  two  less  than  most;  still  even  you  must 
look  out  for  it.  Leave  it  right  here  an'  now,  at 
the  Threshold  of  Life.  Throw  it  away  as  you  would 
an  old  worn-out  shoe — an'  live  no  more  for  yourselves, 
but  for  each  other.  That's  the  only  safe  way  to  start 


EM  PREACHES  A  SERMON  311 

out  to  live  in  such  close  companionship.  That's  the 
greatest  secret  in  the  world — the  secret  of  a  happy 
merried  life. 

"Perhaps  you  think  I  ain't  bin  merried  long 
.enough  to  know  all  this.  Wai,  I  ain't  bin  merried 
very  long,  it's  true;  but  I've  looked  on  an'  seen  some 
of  my  friends  make  frightful  messes  of  their  lives 
when  a  little  unselfishness  would  of  set  everything 
straight. 

"Being  poor  ain't  a  tragedy — even  being  awful  sick 
ain't  a  tragedy — at  least  to  the  one  that's  sick  it  ain't. 
— But  being  discontented,  or  being  suspicious  is  a  trag 
edy.  Don't  forget  that  last.  Don't  have  suspicions! 
Don't  ever  believe  any  harm  of  each  other,  even  when 
you  know  it's  true!  Stand  by  each  other,  whatever 
happens.  A  burden,  a  sorrer,  that  both  of  you  can 
bear,  is  only  half  as  heavy  as  when  a  body  has  to 
carry  it  all  alone. 

"Then  again,  don't  expect  too  much  of  each  other! 
Of  course  nobody  can  be  good  all  the  time!  You  both 
know  you're  bound  to  be  wrong,  sometimes,  so  don't 
expect  more  of  your  life-comrade  than  you  are  equal 
to,  yourself.  Oftentimes,  unhappiness  comes  from  just 
such  a  cause — a  man  imagines  that  he's  merried  an 
angel,  an'  then  gits  mightily  put  out  when  he  finds 
that  a  real  angel  would  have  merried  way  out  of  her 


312        THE  EYES  OF  THE  VILLAGE 

class  in  takin'  him!  So,  say  I,  don't  expect  too  much, 
but  do  just  the  best  you  can  to  live  up  to  the  love 
you  have  for  each  other,  and  you'll  not  fail.  Dear 
children,  I — I've  great  hopes  for  you — "  Suddenly 
Em  stopped ;  then  she  went  on  briskly : 

"Have  I  talked  too  much?  I  never  expected  to  be 
moved  to  preach  a  sermon  to  a  minister!  It's  like 
'takin'  coals  to  Newcastle'  (whatever  that  may  be),  I 
guess  you  think ;  but,  now  it's  out  o'  my  system,  I  feel 
better!"  and  Em  wiped  her  eyes  in  a  businesslike  way 
and  put  her  handkerchief  into  the  black  ribbon  pocket 
she  always  wore  at  her  belt. 

"It  is  a  precious  'sermon' — and  I  shall  remember 
it  all  my  life,"  said  Philip  quietly.  "And  I  promise 
you  here  and  now  that  I'll  abide  by  it,  with  God's 
help,  to  the  best  of  my  ability." 

"And  I  will,  too,  dearest  Aunt  Em,"  said  Rose  in 
a  smothered  tone,  her  face  against  Em's  little,  bony 
shoulder. 

After  this  there  was  much  happy  castle-building 
on  the  part  of  all  three;  till  Philip  suddenly  remem 
bered  that  Rose  and  he  had  planned  a  ramble  in  the 
woods  for  that  morning. 

When  they  had  gone,  Em  sat  alone  in  the  middle 
of  her  sofa  for  nearly  three-quarters  of  an  hour,  gaz- 


EM  PREACHES  A  SERMON  313 

ing  pensively  at  the  stiff  white  handkerchief  of  the 
"weeping  willow  lady"  on  the  opposite  wall — though 
she  never  could  have  told  you  that  there  was  a  pic 
ture  there,  or  even  a  wall. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

EM  HAS  TH,E  LAST  WORD 

ABOUT  two  months  after  the  doctor  was  stricken, 
a  new  Council  was  called,  and,  to  every  one's  delight, 
Philip  Eden  was  regularly  ordained  to  the  Ministry 
and  installed  as  pastor  of  the  South  Wilbr'm  Congre 
gational  Church. 

Late  that  same  evening,  Em  and  Charles  Reuben 
were  sitting  out  on  their  front  porch;  enjoying  the 
soft  air  and  the  moonlight  together.  Danny  had  just 
been  sent  upstairs  to  bed. 

"Where  on  'arth  hev  those  folks  gone!"  Em  ex 
claimed.  "Rose  has  no  business  to  be  out  so  long  in 
the  night  air,  even  if  she  is  so  well  and  strong  again ! 
It  don't  pay  to  be  careless  about  night  air !" 

"Oh,  I  guess  they've  only  gone  up  the  road  a  piece ! 
— Young  folks  will  be  young  folks!"  answered  her 
spouse,  cheerfully. 

All  at  once  there  was  a  flutter  of  white  muslin, 
with  a  dark  blotch  of  shadow  moving  along  beside 
it.  The  white  muslin  flew  up  the  walk,  leaving  the 
darker  shape  far  in  the  rear. 

314 


EM  HAS  THE  LAST  WORD  315 

Straight  up  the  steps  it  flew,  not  hesitating  a  mo 
ment  in  the  brilliant  moonlight;  and,  before  Em  knew 
what  had  happened,  her  head  and  neck  were  impris 
oned  by  two  soft  arms — caught  in  a  tight  squeeze 
which  did  not  lessen  as  the  dark  shadow,  at  a  slower 
pace,  came  up  the  walk. 

Not  a  word  did  Rose  utter;  but  Em's  intuition 
needed  none.  The  happy  pressure  of  the  arms  she 
loved  told  her  everything.  And,  as  the  dark  shape 
reached  the  steps  and  became  recognizable,  Em  said: 

"So  you've  set  the  day!  Wai,  Philip  Eden,  you've 
sartainly  been  long  enough  in  gettin'  started;  but  you 
ain't  losin'  much  time  now.  Land  sakes!  We  ain't 
hed  time  to  draw  breath  since  nearly  breakin'  our 
necks  gettin'  you  Installed!  An'  now,  on  top  o'  that, 
we've  got  to  turn  right  round  an'  git  ready  for  your 
weddin'.  Ain't  that  just  like  a  man!" 


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